Long Way Home
by MonkeeMidgie
Summary: Everyone's so used to Mike taking care of things. What happens when it's Mike who needs to be taken care of? I do not own the Monkees (oh, if only...) the OC's are mine, though.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: _Through the endless days and nights_

"Mike?" Blonde bass player Peter Tork called as he entered the upstairs bedroom of the Monkees' pad. "Hey, Mike?"

Micky Dolenz threw a pillow at him and rolled over, refusing to get up yet.

Peter wasn't deterred. "Have you seen Mike, Micky?" he asked the curly haired drummer who shared a room with the missing guitar player, ignoring the fact that Micky had been asleep when he came in.

"mmm…nope…not home yet," Micky yawned. Suddenly he sat up, frowning. "Wait. What time is it?"

"It's after 10." Pete replied, frowning. "He's awfully late. I thought he got off at 2."

"He was supposed to," Micky agreed, suddenly wide awake. Micky hoped perhaps Mike had already come and then left again, but the sheet music he'd tossed carelessly on his roommate's bed yesterday was still there. The bed had obviously not been slept in at all. His imagination immediately turned to all the things that could have happened to their missing friend.

"Did you try calling Mr. Antonelli? Maybe Mike's still at the restaurant." Micky asked, rising and grabbing his robe as Pete shook his head. He hadn't thought of that.

They ran down the stairs, intending to call the restaurant, when Mike Nesmith dragged himself in, yawning.

"Hey, guys. Soups on," the tall dark haired Texan called the others, tossing a paper bag with three plates in it onto the table and going to pour himself a cup of coffee, coughing weakly. He sank into a chair, opening the newspaper. "Sorry it's late."

"Sorry it's…." young British bandmate Davy Jones sputtered, hanging up the phone. "You must be joking! We weren't worried about the food, Mike. We've been pulling our hair out thinking you were in an accident somewhere."

"Yeah, we were about to start calling hospitals or something," Micky added while Peter nodded his head in agreement. "Where have you been?"

Mike sighed, tilting his head back and rubbing his eyes a moment before trying again to focus on the paper, looking for any upcoming auditions their band might be able to attend. He coughed again then attempted to clear his throat before answering. "Sorry guys… Mr. Antonelli needed me to stay. I thought about callin', but I didn't want to wake anybody then we just got too busy." He yawned again. Blinking hard, he began pouring through the newspaper, looking for the next audition, pinching the bridge of his nose to try to force the pounding headache he'd had all night at bay.

His three bandmates gathered around the table, pulling out the plates of food and beginning to eat, all the while watching him intently. "You okay, Mike?" Micky asked at last around a huge mouthful of food, noting how pale and exhausted his friend seemed.

"mmmhmm," Mike answered quietly, circling an ad.

"Did you want some of this?" Peter asked him, holding out his plate, frowning at the fact that, once again, there were only three in the bag instead of four. He couldn't swear to it since Mike had stopped tucking in his shirts so that they now all appeared to hang more loosely on his slender frame, but it sure seemed as if the tall, skinny Texan had lost more weight he couldn't afford to lose over the last few weeks.

Mike just shook his head, holding up his cup of coffee as if to say he had all he needed before setting it aside and circling another ad.

"Maybe you should let the audition hunt go for today and just go to bed," Davy suggested, his brow furrowing in concern. "I mean, you've been up all night and…well…you're not looking so good, you know, and that cold seems to be hanging on kind of long, don't you think?"

"Now, Tiny, you know we can't afford to do that." Mike replied, sounding surprised it would even be suggested. "Our gig at Antonelli's ends in two weeks and I'm still pulling shifts bussing tables and doing dishes besides that just to pay for that lighting control panel that Coke got spilled on. We need to get another gig lined up and fast just to pay rent next month."

"Sorry about the Coke, Mike," Pete offered sadly. "I really didn't mean to."

"It's okay, Pete. Accidents happen." Mike answered, smiling wanly. Coughing yet again, he turned his attention back to the paper.

The three turned back to the table, whispering worriedly among themselves as they finished their breakfast.

"Still coming down to the beach with us after practice?" Micky finally asked, though he, like the others, was hoping that the answer would be, "are you nuts? I'll be sleeping!"

"Sorry, Shotgun. Not happenin'." Mike sighed without looking up from the paper, much to his bandmates relief. That relief was short lived, though, as he continued by saying, "I got too much to do before headin' to Lucy's for a while before our gig. "

"Like what?" Davy demanded, determined to argue if the answer was anything besides sleep. "What's so important that it can't wait?"

"Besides practice, and calling on these auditions, you mean? How about Mick's laundry, the downstairs bathroom, and last night's dishes for starters." Mike answered, setting the paper aside in exasperation.

Micky looked surprised. "You're the one who's been doing my laundry? Cool. Thanks, man."

"Yeah, well, I tried askin' nice but it refused to do itself, and I can't see lettin' you go out naked waitin' on it to change its mind." Mike deadpanned, his Texas drawl made all the more apparent for his fatigue. "Now go get dressed so we can practice, will ya?"

"What about sleep?" Davy finally asked. "I didn't hear that on your to do list."

"You know, maybe we shouldn't practice today." Peter suggested timidly, knowing how volatile Mike could be when he felt pressured. "That way you could sleep a little before starting on everything else."

"No, now, we need to practice," Mike insisted. "and then I got to get some things done around here. No matter how it might seem to you three, this place doesn't clean itself. I'll just have to try to catch a few winks when I'm done here before goin' to Lucy's."

"Or you could pass on seeing your girl tonight," Davy pressed, begging Mike to see reason. "Come on, man. You've been over there every night for three weeks now. And look at you. You're dead on your feet. If she's as groovy as you think she is, she'll understand."

Mike shook his head, clearing his throat. "You guys don't understand. It ain't like that."

"So, what is it like, then?" Davy countered angrily. "What is there about her that makes her worth killing yourself over?"

Mike hesitated, considering his answer carefully. "Why don't you guys come with me tonight and find out," he replied at last. "Her and her mom live just a couple houses up the beach. 1330. Meet me there around 4. You'll see why I can't just skip it."

The guys looked surprised. Had Mike finally invited them to meet his new girlfriend?

"Yeah, okay," Davy reluctantly conceded. "Just try to make sure you get some rest before then, okay?"

Mike nodded, rising and heading into the kitchen area for more coffee. "Can y'all maybe get dressed so we can get on with it?"

The guys hurried to comply. Within minutes, all three were dressed and ready to go.

"Maybe we should just refuse to practice until after he's slept a few hours," Davy suggested conspiratorially to Micky quietly as they headed to the alcove where their instruments were set up.

Micky looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "So you're suggesting we trade in sick and tired Mike for angry, sick and tired Mike? Yeah….no."

Peter picked up his bass with an apologetic glance at Davy, making it obvious he was siding with Micky on this one.

"I thought you said Mike never got sick, Davy," Micky pressed Davy. "Well, except for sea sick, I mean."

"Well I guess there's a first time for everything," Davy pouted. "He's done it proper now, hasn't he?"

"Imagine how good he'd be at it if he practiced," Pete chimed in absently, tuning his bass. Micky and Davy looked at Pete in disbelief before shaking their heads, turning their attention back to their own instruments.

Mike joined them, setting his coffee cup aside and grabbing his Gretch 12 string guitar, clearing his throat again. Trying hard not to cough, he playing the opening chords to "She", carefully steering the others toward songs he didn't sing at all on just as he had been for over a week. Midway through the practice, Mike pulled up a stool and sat down, pale, winded, and slightly shaky, but he didn't miss a note. None of this went unnoticed by the others, though none bothered commenting on it, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

Once the practice was over, however, Davy placed a hand on Mike's shoulder. "Seriously, man. Please, just take it easy today, okay? Don't feel like you have to get everything done all at once."

Mike nodded, setting aside the 12 string. "You guys go on and enjoy the beach. I'll see you at Lucy's later on."

"You gonna get some sleep?" Davy asked hopefully.

"I'm gonna get a shower," Mike answered, a ghost of a smile upon his lips. "After that…we'll see."

Believing that was probably as close to a concession as they were going to get, Peter, Micky and Davy headed out to enjoy the sand and water, leaving Mike to himself in the hopes that tired Mike plus quiet pad would equal sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2. Sweet Young Thing

Peter, Micky and Davy walked along the beach, deep in conversation as they made their way to Lucy's house.

"So you'll get the kitchen, I'll get the bathrooms, and together we'll get the rest of the sprucing up around the pad so he won't need to do anything tomorrow."Davy confirmed. "Micky, you'll cover Antonelli's tonight after our gig, and Peter and I can do any remaining laundry tomorrow. Maybe if we show him he doesn't need to work so hard, he'll take some time and just rest."

"We should have just stayed there today and helped him out," Peter frowned to the other two. "We've been slacking off an awful lot. It's no wonder he's not getting any better."

"Everything was still getting done," Davy looked away from the others guiltily. "I guess I sort of stopped worrying about how."

"We all did," Peter nodded, placing a hand on his arm. "But we're going to fix that now. Right?"

Micky didn't bother arguing. He knew they were right. "Yeah, Pete. We're gonna fix it."

"Maybe we shouldn't have gone to the beach today." Davy sighed.

"I'm pretty sure that if we'd stuck around today he'd have stayed up just because we were there, and face it, he really needed to rest." Micky disagreed, gesturing ahead of them. "There's Lucy's house there, I think. 1330, he said. Right?"

They couldn't wait to meet the woman who'd managed to capture Mike's attention, but they were hoping they'd get there early enough to talk to her before he arrived. If they couldn't get him to take it a little easier, maybe she could. Micky knocked on the door and waited, hoping they were at the right address.

"Hola?" a petite, dark haired woman called out, opening the door without removing the chain and looking up at all of them, including Davy, much to his surprise.

"Um…hi. I'm …or rather we…we're friends of Mike's. He said to…" Micky began.

"Oh yes…Michael told me you were going to meet him here when he called earlier," the woman replied, opening the door. Large brown eyes took in the three on her doorstep, their expression kind and warm. "Welcome. I am so glad you were able to come. But…where is Michael?"

"He said he'd meet us here around 4," Pete answered, smiling shyly.

"Oh. Okay. You're a little early, then. Please, come in. Michael speaks so fondly of you all," the woman told them as she led them inside. "Lucia always loves to hear his stories about you three. We've been hoping we would get to meet you."

"So you're not Lucy then?" Davy asked as he took in the beauty before him. "Mike said she lived here with her mother, so we thought..."

The woman laughed, a soft melodic sound, as she shook her head. "No, no, I am Maria. Lucia is my daughter."

"You're…" Davy began, baffled. This woman was old enough to have a daughter their age? She didn't look any older than they were. "Wait. How old is Lucy, then?"

"She just turned six." Maria replied, leading them toward a set of well worn sofas. "Michael didn't tell you that?"

"No," Micky answered. "He hasn't really told us much besides where you live, to be honest. We just assumed…"

Maria smiled, shaking her head in amusement. "He is a nice man, your friend. Lucia adores him. He's made things so much easier for her."

"Easier?" Pete asked curiously. "Why was it hard?"

Maria's expression clouded. "My Lucia isn't like other children." She admitted quietly. "Most people just think she is slow and don't pay much attention to her, but she's really very bright. You just have to take the time to see it. Most people don't do that."

Peter looked away, understanding the girl's plight all too well. People always thought he was slow, too.

"Wow. I'm sorry," Davy sighed solemnly as he and Micky each placed a comforting hand on Peter's shoulders, both pretty sure they knew what was going through his head right then.

"Don't be. " Maria sighed. "She's a very happy little girl most of the time, no matter what others think."

"How did you guys meet Mike?" Peter asked, giving Maria his undivided attention.

"We met at the grocery store last month." Maria answered." Well, actually outside the grocery store. At the bus stop. I'd had a friend, Rosalie, sit with Lucia while I went to pick up a few things and it started raining while I was in the store. We weren't expecting a storm that day, so I didn't have a coat or an umbrella with me and by the time I got to the bus stop I'd missed my bus..."

_Maria ran for the bus stop in front of the market, arriving just as the bus was pulling away. The rain was coming down hard by then, and one of the paper bags filled with groceries split, emptying its contents unceremoniously upon the sidewalk. That was the last straw. She began crying as she knelt down, trying to salvage what she could of her purchases. She was startled when, a moment later, a warm coat was settled across her shoulders and an umbrella was pressed into her hand. _

_"Here," a soft voice drawled. "Let me get that." A very tall, very slender, dark haired man in a green wool knit hat knelt beside her, hastily gathering her items into an empty guitar case and rapidly becoming soaked to the skin. "This might be a little easier to carry all that in. At least it won't break open on ya when it gets wet, anyway," he told her as he rose, offering her his hand to help her up as well._

_Thunder sounded loudly then lightening lit up the sky. "How long before the next bus," the young man asked worriedly, obviously not wanting to leave her out there in the middle of a storm._

_"Not for another hour," Maria answered, sobbing harder at the thought of being away from Lucia that long on a day like today. _

_"Hey, now," the young man said, his dark eyes filled with compassion. "wait…look…I can't just leave you out here cryin' in the rain for an hour. How 'bout I give you a lift?"_

_Maria hesitated, trying to bring herself under control as she considered his offer. He seemed kind enough, standing there in the pouring rain with her groceries in his hand as she huddled inside his warm coat under his umbrella, but she knew only too well how deceptive people could be. Besides, she didn't even know his name. Seeming to understand her reluctance, the tall stranger smiled softly. "My name's Michael. What's yours?" _

_Maria dried her eyes and introduced herself. "My name is Maria."_

_"Nice to meet you, Maria. So, now that we're not strangers anymore… here's the thing," Mike's dark eyes twinkled mischievously. "I can either stand here getting' wet and catchin' my death waitin' on that bus with you for the next hour, or you can let me take you home and save me havin' to find you later to retrieve my guitar case. I'll be honest, I'm hopin' you'll choose door number two there, since it's gettin' kinda cold out here already, but it's up to you." He paused for a few seconds, shoving his free hand into the pocket of his jeans, before intoning softly. "Yup…your choice…anytime now…"_

_Maria laughed in spite of herself. "Where is your car, Michael?"_

_He led her to the tricked out, cherry red GTO with "The Monkees" emblazed on the side in the shape of a guitar and opened the door for her. After moving his 12 string guitar into the back seat along with the leather guitar case full of her groceries, belted her in, then closed the door carefully before heading around to the driver's side. "Where do you need to go?" he asked her as he started up the car. Soaked and visibly shivering, he turned on the heater as he listened to her reply. Hearing the address, his smiled a little half smile. "Well, what do you know. We're neighbors," he told her. "I live two houses down at 1334." _

_"Really?" Maria asked, surprised to discover that. She'd lived there for months and hadn't seen him anywhere in the neighborhood yet, though her landlord had warned her about the 'long haired weirdoes' that lived close by, and she'd thought she'd heard music from one of the houses when she'd taken Lucia out on their balcony to watch the birds flying over the water. "Mr. Babbitt told us that musician's lived there."_

_"That's right," Michael answered, smirking at the diplomacy of her reply. Somehow, he could be pretty sure their landlord's description of them hadn't been nearly that charitable. "We're called the Monkees."_

_They chatted about the group, the beach, and their landlord on the way to her home. Once they arrived, Michael quickly jumped out and went around to open her door, offering her his hand to help her out of the car and ensuring she was safely beneath the umbrella again, before reaching into the back seat for the guitar case full of groceries. _

_"Such a gentleman," Maria commented, impressed. _

_"I'll be sure to let my mother know you approve," Michael quipped with a wink. "Now let's get you inside where it's dry."_

_Maria opened her mouth to say that she wasn't the one soaked to the skin, as she still had both his coat and his umbrella, but thought better of it. Instead, she ran to the door, fumbling with the key. At the next lightening strike, a scream could be heard from inside. _

_"What the…" Michael asked, his eyes going wide with alarm. That sounded like a child screaming. _

_Maria fumbled with the key a moment longer before Mike stepped forward and took it from her, opening the door quickly. She entered the moment he managed to get the door open and went running up the stairs with Mike right behind her. "Lucia," she called out as she ran, hearing the child screaming again at the next lightening strike. _

_Mike followed her into the upstairs bedroom to find a small girl curled up all alone in the corner crying. Maria bent to pick her up and draw her close to her, whispering soft words that seemed to do little comfort the frightened child. Mike hesitated in the doorway, watching the two for a moment, then he walked quietly to them, guided Maria to the edge of the bed so she could sit down with the child, and began singing softly, rubbing the little girl's back as he did so. Slowly the child began to calm, listening to the soft sound of Michael's voice. Maria looked surprised when Lucia reached out to the stranger. Mike was surprised as well, but he took her into his arms and held her, still singing softly to her until she fell asleep. Maria smiled as she rose and turned down the bed so he could deposit the sleeping child beneath the covers. _

_"Thank you," she whispered. _

_Michael blushed and nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. "um…you, ah…you might want to dry her off some." He managed quietly at last, gesturing to his still dripping shirt. "Sorry 'bout that. She's got a good grip there."_

_"Oh, yes. I'm so sorry. Let me get you a towel." Maria offered as they left the child's room. She was surprised when he waved off her offer and continued on into the kitchen. _

_"Not much point," he explained as he proceeded to unload the guitar case full of groceries onto her kitchen table for her. "Not when I'm just gonna head back out into it."_

_"Can't you stay?" Maria asked, noting the rain still coming down hard. "At least until the storm has passed?"_

_Mike shook his head as he closed up his guitar case and headed for the door. "I'd best be gettin' back. I don't want the guys worryin', and Pete don't like storms a whole lot more than your little one does." _

"I asked him if he might come back the next day to meet Lucia properly and he agreed, and he's come every day since. She loves him so much. He sits and visits with her. He sings to her or plays his guitar or tells her stories or just listens to her tell stories of her own until she falls asleep and then he leaves." Maria concluded. "She loves to hear his stories."

Micky, Pete and Davy looked stunned as they listened to Maria's tale. They all remembered the day of the storm, when Mike had gone to get groceries and come home completely soaked, but none had ever heard this part of it. How come Mike hadn't told them any of this?

"What happened with your friend Rosalie?" Davy asked, more than a little angry that someone would leave such a young child alone like that.

"I'm not really sure," Maria admitted. "She only said something came up and she had to leave. I haven't really spoken to her very much since that day."

The clock on the mantle chimed four then, and the boys all turned expectantly toward the door.

"Mike's late," Pete stated the obvious with a frown, looking from Davy to Micky.

"He is usually here by now," Maria agreed, wondering if perhaps he'd decided he couldn't make it over after all, despite his call earlier. "Perhaps you would all like to go up and wait for him in Lucia's room? I know she's looking forward to meeting all of you and I don't want her to think nobody's coming today, if that's okay. I'm afraid she's grown very accustomed to these visits."

"Sure," Micky agreed readily, though he looked again from the clock to the door. It wasn't usually like Mike to be late without calling, but this made the second time today.

"Actually, if you don't mind I think I'd like to try to call." Davy said, his brows furrowed with worry, having realized the same thing Micky had. "Just to make sure he's on his way."

"Of course," Maria replied gesturing toward the little table by the stairs. "The phone is over there. Please. Help yourself."

Five rings later, Davy concluded that Mike must have already left. Joining the others upstairs, he was surprised to see a tiny little black haired girl with enormous brown eyes, made to seem all the greater by the thick coke bottle glasses she wore, smiling up at him from where she sat in a shiny silver wheelchair.

"So, you're the Lucy we've been hearing so much about, are you?" Davy greeted her. "I'm David."

"You mean Davy, right?" the child asked innocently with a slight slur to her speech. "Michael always calls you Davy."

Davy laughed and nodded. "That's right. That's me."

"You are Peter, si?" she said to the blonde bass player, smiling brightly when he nodded. Turning to the drummer she concluded sagely, "And you are Micky."

"Yup, you got us," Micky grinned.

"Where is Michael?" the child asked, looking around him toward the door.

"I'm pretty sure he's on his way here right now," Davy answered, hoping it was true.

"Did you catch him before he left?" Micky asked hopefully. Davy shook his head. Pushing away the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, Micky nodded. "Well then, I imagine we'll see him any minute now."

"Oh good," The child beamed. "He was going to tell me a story today about you three leading a mutiny on a pirate ship without him. I even made hats. See?" The child wheeled to the little table in her room and held up two pirate hats she'd folded out of newspaper. "He promised he would wear it if I made it for him." She giggled. Somehow the mental image of Mike in a newspaper pirate hat made the others laugh too.

"Well, love, I guess we could start the story if you wanted." Davy offered, plopping one of the hats unceremoniously upon his own head and causing the child to laugh even harder.

"We might need more hats, though," Peter grinned, sitting down on the floor beside her at the table and proceeding to help fold more newspaper hats for the rest of them.

"Mike was there with us, see, but he was dreadfully seasick, so the three of us ended up on deck…that's the top side of the ship…while he was made to lie down. " Davy began while Micky helped Peter with the hats. "And, to be fair, we didn't know it was a pirate's ship when we set sail…"

Forty minutes later the child was curled up in Peter's lap, Davy was nearing the end of the tale, and Mike still hadn't arrived. Micky excused himself and went down to try calling again, but there was still no answer.

"Do you think maybe he's feeling too poorly to come?" Maria asked, startling him slightly as she stepped out from behind him. "He did not seem well at all yesterday. I think the cold he caught when we met is catching up to him, maybe. Perhaps he is sleeping?"

Micky seemed surprised by the question. "Maybe…I mean, yeah…you're right. He really hasn't been feeling all that great, and he did work a double shift after our gig last night. That's probably it. He's probably just sleeping." Still, he couldn't shake that feeling of dread. Not when he knew Mike never usually slept that soundly.

"I hope so," Maria sighed. "Do you think maybe you could call us when you get home, just so we know he's alright?" She felt foolish asking. After all, Mike didn't owe them any explanation. He wasn't obligated to visit them daily as he had been. But, still, he had been coming every day anyway, and his earlier call had made it sound as if he'd intended to come today as well. Somehow, she couldn't seem to help but worry.

"Sure thing," Micky answered, seeing his own concern mirrored back at him. Deciding he was going to just head back to the pad and check up on their missing friend, he hurried back upstairs to let the others know, pausing in the doorway as Pete and Davy finished tucking Lucy into bed and tiptoed out to him. They decided then that it was time for all to head back and have a serious talk with Mike.

"She's sweet," Peter told Maria with a smile as the boys reached the foot of the stairs again together.

"Thank you, Peter." Maria replied. "So are you. All of you. Thank you so much for coming."

"It was nice meeting you both," Davy told her, smiling disarmingly at the pretty, dark haired woman. "May we come again?"

"Please do," she said. "Oh wait…before you go." Maria hurried into the kitchen, returning quickly with a small cast iron pot. "Lucia made me promise to make this for Michael. For his cold. It's sopa de fideo con pollo. Please tell him we hope he feels better."

Davy accepted the small pot with the lid, looking confused. "It's what?" he asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

Maria laughed. "Chicken noodle soup."

"Of course. Why didn't you just say so?" Davy smiled. "We'll make sure he has some and pass on your message. Goodnight, Maria."

"Goodnight, boys." Maria called as they left. She closed the door softly, turning to look at the phone and frowning. Seating herself beside it, she waited, her stomach knotting nervously, for a phone call assuring her that the missing Texan had been found.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3 A Nightmare of A Different Kind_

Davy, Micky and Peter walked in silence, each weighed down by their own worries and fears. What could have happened to Mike? They knew he wouldn't have skipped out on his visit with Lucy unless it was something serious. Arriving at their home, they saw the car was still there, meaning Mike had never left the pad. That's when Micky ran in, not bothering to wait for the others as his fears got the best of him.

"MIKE," he called out as soon as he entered the pad. "Hey, Mike…"

Peter and Davy entered only a few steps behind him, depositing the pot on the table and proceeding to call out and to look downstairs as well for their friend.

Not seeing him in the living room, Micky ran upstairs, only to stop dead in his tracks. Mike lay pale and still in the hallway just outside their room.

"PETE, DAVY, GET UP HERE QUICK!" He called out as he knelt beside his unconscious friend. Putting a hand to his forehead, Micky swore softly. "Aw man, Mike, you're burning up." he whispered. He tried shaking the Texan's shoulders gently and patting his cheeks in an effort to rouse him, but it was no use. "Mike. Come on, Mike, please wake up." He pleaded. Realizing he wasn't getting anywhere that way, He turned toward the stairs, hearing the other two running up to where he was.

"Pete, go call Doctor Parsons. Tell him it's an emergency. Davy, go soak some towels to help me cool him down with. " Micky directed as the other two arrived at the top of the stairs, drawing the taller boy to him and lifting him far too easily. "Damn, Pete's right. He really has lost weight," he told Davy as the diminutive Brit searched the closet beside them for towels.

Pete ran back in as Micky put Mike to bed, pulling off his shoes and shirt as Davy returned with the damp towels and began gently wiping the Texan's face.

"The doctor's on his way," Peter told them, staring wide eyed at their friend. "Is he going to be okay?"

"He'll be fine," Micky answered absently, taking another of the wet towels and wiping down the unconscious man's chest, stomach and arms, trying not to cringe as he saw how thin his friend had truly become. Noting the tears threatening in the sensitive blonde's eyes, Micky sighed. "Look, Pete, why don't you go down and wait for Doc Parsons, okay? Bring him straight up when he gets here." Peter hesitated for a moment, then nodded and hurried back down the stairs.

Gray haired and slightly stooped Doctor Parsons arrived quickly, though it seemed to take forever to the three worried boys. He talked to them briefly, getting a little background on his patient, then all three boys were sent down into livingroom to wait nervously, all eyes on the stairway, while the he examined Mike.

"We should call Maria," Davy suggested quietly, his eyes bright with tears. "We told her we'd call her after we checked on him."

Micky shook his head, staring dejectedly at the floor. "No point in calling her until Doc Parsons is done."

"We shouldn't have left him alone," Peter sobbed, feelings of guilt getting the better of him. "We knew he was sick. Why didn't we stay with him?"

"He didn't want us to, remember? He told us to go." Micky reminded Pete as gently as he could, though even he was having a hard time convincing himself he was right.

"We went to play around and left him to clean up after us, like we always do." Peter argued, pulling away with uncharacteristic anger, tear streaming down his face. "He was working the extra hours for Antonelli to clean up my mistake and he stayed up when he got home to clean up everything else because we couldn't be bothered. Didn't you hear him this morning? He all but asked us to help him here. He only told us to go because we couldn't be bothered to hear him."

"We left because we thought he might rest if pad was quiet enough. And all but asked isn't asking," Micky argued, desperate to put his own feelings of guilt in check. "He told us what he needed to do, not what he needed us to do."

"He shouldn't have had to tell us to do anything," Davy chimed in at last, agreeing with Peter as much as he wished he didn't. "We could have done the dishes…cleaned the bathrooms…done our own laundry." He noticed Micky flinch as if he'd been slapped, but continued anyway. "We could have made some of the calls. That was the agreement we made from the start, right? We'd each take care of ourselves? But we haven't been. We were here the whole time he was working for Antonelli. There's no reason we couldn't have done at least some of it ourselves. We could have helped at Antonelli's instead of leaving it to him to do it on his own, for that matter. He's run himself ragged because we didn't leave him a choice."

Micky lowered his head, unable to find his voice past the lump in his throat. He was spared the need to by the sound of Doctor Parsons emerging from the upstairs bedroom.

"Well, boys," the elderly gentleman said as he came down the stairs. "I'm not going to kid you. Your friend up there is in pretty sad shape. He's really going to need you to look after him for awhile. I'm going to leave some antibiotics, a strong cough syrup and a couple of inhalers to see if we can't help him breathe a little easier, and something to help strengthen his lungs back up. You'll need to see to it he takes them. I want him on bed rest for the time being. Keep him still and quiet and make sure he takes in plenty of fluids. Give him aspirin and as much water as you can get him to take in to help get that fever down, but not on an empty stomach. You need to make sure he eats. I'm going to leave some supplements for him, but they won't do much if he's not eating, and it's pretty clear he hasn't been doing enough of that. I'll be back on Friday evening to check in on him."

Peter let out a strangled sob and turned to Micky, who did his best to comfort him.

"Is he awake?" Davy asked, looking up at the closed door. "Can we see him?"

"You can go on in, but try not to disturb him." The doctor replied. "He's not awake yet, but given what you all told me about the schedule he's been keeping I don't think anyone should be surprised by that. Exhaustion is another complication we're going to have to deal with. A body just can't heal the way it needs to in that state, so we want to let him sleep as long as we can. You'll need to make sure to wake him long enough to get something in him and give him his medicine when it's due, but then let him go back to sleep if he will."

"Mike's going to be okay, though, right?" Peter asked, his voice thick with emotion. "If we do like you said and make sure he rests and everything, I mean. He'll be alright, then. Right?"

"He should be," the doctor agreed. "Just make sure he is made to rest. Make sure he knows that I'm expecting to find him reclining in that bed when I return, and that he's to have remained there the entire time without argument. I'll be back at the end of the week." He smiled at the three in front of him. "Now you boys go ahead and look in on him if you want to. I'll show myself out."

Micky watched the doctor leave, turning over all the things he'd said as Davy called Maria to fill her in. Considering how driven his friend had been lately, he was pretty sure that getting Mike to follow the doctor's orders and just check out for a week would be easier said than done. "So all we've got to do is keep Mike tied to the bed and force feed him for a week. Sure. Simple." He sighed at last. He raised his head to look at his friends. "I guess maybe if we sit on him. Literally. That might work."

"I'll do it if I have to," Peter vowed, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve.

"We just have to make sure he doesn't have a reason to argue. If we keep up on everything he's been doing on our own then he won't feel like he has to get up and do it himself." Davy reminded them as he hung up the phone. "And if that doesn't work, we'll call in our secret weapon."

"What weapon?" Micky and Peter asked in unison.

Davy answered simply, "Lucy."


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4: Partly Shattered Men_

The first two days were a blur for the boys. Each time Mike would wake for a few moments, struggling for air that seemed to be in short supply, they'd try with varying degrees of success to get food, water and medicine into him before fever and exhaustion overtook him again.

On the evening of the third day, Mike again awoke coughing and gasping.

"Easy Mike…just breathe…." Micky urged gently, sitting his friend up against him and patting his back.

Peter poured a glass of ice water, sloshing some upon the floor in his haste, and offered it to Mike while Davy went for the inhalers for him. Mike waved them off, his expression one of complete confusion as he struggled to get himself under control. "What..." he began, only to be overcome by another wave of coughs. "Why's everyone in here?" he finally managed. Looking from one of his friends to another, noting the matching worry in each of their eyes Mike frowned, certain he'd missed something important.

"Babysitting?" Micky offered, glancing at the other two and shrugging helplessly.

Mike only looked more confused at that. "What time is it?" he asked, deciding to let it go.

"6:30," Peter answered, still holding out the water to him.

Mike closed his eyes, swearing softly as he made to rise. "We're late…" he groaned. The movement set him coughing painfully, but he tried to push through it, his sense of responsibility to the others prodding him on.

"Hey, no…Mr. Antonelli isn't expecting one of us to show up until ten," Micky hastily assured him, placing his hands on Mike's shoulders in an attempt to keep him from getting up.

"Please Mike, just relax, okay. We've got Antonelli's covered, I promise." Davy added, moving to help keep him down, a task which had been a real challenge for the last two days, at times taking all three of them together to accomplish. As Mike's coughing stilled, Davy added, "You're not supposed to get out of bed, remember?" pressing him backwards determinedly.

Mike shook his head, but surprised them all by settling back again, now looking completely lost. He felt weak, winded, dizzy and honestly more than a little sick to his stomach, but he didn't want to let on to the others, figuring they seemed worried enough without having to listen to him whine. More than anything, he wished he could figure out what exactly had happened and, he supposed, how deeply he'd stepped in it for them to all keep looking at him like that. He finally took the water from Peter, if only because the blonde seemed so determined that he should have it. His hands shook so badly, though, that Peter had to help him hold the cup. He sipped it a moment, coughed and sipped again, trying to gather his thoughts and, hopefully, get a handle on what the others were talking about. Failing, he finally sighed and shook his head again.

"What's the last thing you do remember?" Micky asked, deciding it might be better to start at the beginning, though they'd tried this already a few times over the last two days with no success as Mike hadn't really been thinking clearly enough to answer questions or follow explanations just yet.

Mike thought a long moment then answered, "Headin' up here to get your laundry, I guess."

Micky flinched again at that answer. "Yeah, well, you kind of didn't make it…" he told him quietly. He was glad Mike was able to remember and answer this time, though he'd hoped he had, perhaps, been heading up to bed instead of still been trying to clean up their messes.

"Sorry 'bout that," Mike replied, reaching up to rub his temple, swallowing hard as his stomach lurched. He needed to move, if only to get somewhere he wasn't being looked at the way his three friends were looking at him just then, with that odd mixture of worry and guilt and something he couldn't quite identify yet.

"No, that's okay, Mike. It's just…do you know about what time that was?" Micky replied quickly, feeling all the more guilty for Mike's apology. He also needed to know for himself how long Mike had been out cold on the floor while they were out playing and visiting.

"Um…" Mike thought hard and shrugged. "'bout 2, I guess. What happened?"

"You got worse," Pete blurted as he passed the cup to Davy and knelt beside Mike, continuing breathlessly. "We came home from Lucy's and you were on the floor, out cold. Except you weren't cold you were burning up and we called the doctor and he said to keep you in bed and give you medicine and food and water and make sure you rested. Only we couldn't get you to eat and you didn't want the medicine so we kind of had to make you take it and drink water and broth and stuff and you scared us, Mike. I thought you were going to… you might…" Tears threatened in Peter's eyes as he struggled to find the words to describe his fears.

"Ah man…I'm sorry Pete…come on, now, don't cry…" Mike placed a hand on Peter's shoulder only to have the blonde throw his arms around him, sobbing. Unsure what else to do, Mike put his arms around Peter, rubbing small circles on his back in an effort to calm him. "look…I'm fine now, okay?"

Davy put a hand on Mike's forehead and shook his head. "Uh uh. Better, maybe, but still not fine." He disagreed. "But now that you seem to be thinking more like yourself maybe we can actually get you to do what the doc said so you can stop scaring us, okay? Please?"

Mike looked from one face to another, noticing how tired and haggard they all appeared. _That won't do._ He thought. _They shouldn't any of them ever look like this_. "I'm thinkin' y'all might need to be layin' here more than I do," he drawled at last.

"Yes, well, we haven't slept much the last couple of days," Davy admitted, making another attempt at handing him the inhalers the doctor had left for him.

"Days?" Mike repeated, sounding stunned. "Wait….days? How long was I out?"

"It's Wednesday, Mike," Micky replied, looking closely, trying to make sure Mike wasn't getting too overwhelmed.

"Wednesday….," Mike repeated in disbelief. "Wednesday?"

All three nodded.

"Three days?" Mike clarified.

They nodded again.

"And you been sittin' here worryin' over me that whole time?" Mike closed his eyes, "Geez, I'm sorry guys."

"No, we're sorry," Davy argued vehemently, placing a hand on the much taller boy's arm, as much to reassure himself that they hadn't lost him as to comfort him. "If we hadn't made you take care of everything you could have slowed down and taken care of yourself."

"I'm sorry, Mike." Micky agreed. "I should have been doing my own laundry."

"…and I can clean our bathroom," Peter intoned softly.

"Hold on, now. Wait a minute. None of you made me do anything. I chose to do those things," Mike tried to reassure them all. "I'm supposed to take care of you guys."

"No," Davy interrupted, looking sadly at Mike. "We're supposed to take care of each other. Only you were the only one doing it. But that ends now."

Peter nodded, "That's right."

"I'm with them, Mike," Micky concurred. "You're going to have to get used to the idea that it's our job to take care of you, too."

Mike looked as if he might still argue, but held his peace after seeing how determined the other three were. "So how long am I supposed to just lay around here doin' nothin'?" he asked instead, really hoping they could get off the other topic entirely, as he never managed to quite get comfortable with that whole idea of being taken care of by someone else but really didn't feel like arguing. Besides, it wasn't as if he wouldn't do whatever it was that needed doing regardless if it came to it no matter what anyone else decided. What choice did he really have? He couldn't let the other guys down even if that seemed to be what they were asking for.

"The doctor will be back on Friday evening," Davy replied, not ready to trust Mike's apparent surrender just yet. He knew his lanky friend better than that. "Until then, you're staying right there."

Mike sighed. "Can I at least have my guitar and some paper? And a pencil, maybe?"

"After you eat, maybe," Davy smiled, pleased despite still being somewhat suspicious of Mike's graceful surrender. "And use those already." He added, gesturing to the inhalers Mike had just absently set aside the moment they'd been pressed into his hands. Mike rolled his eyes and used them as instructed, if only to ease the worry of the others. Davy, noting how badly his friend's hands were still shaking, wasn't so sure that handing Mike his prize possession when he couldn't even hold his own water glass was a great idea, but he wasn't about to point that out just yet.

"Do you think you could hold something more than broth down or is your stomach still sick?" Peter asked. He realized by the surprised looks on the faces of the other two that he had divulged something he hadn't intended to. "I'm sorry, Mike. I mean…I know you said it was just nerves that night and not to worry, and I said I wouldn't say anything …"

"It's all right, Shotgun. Not much sense in holdin' out details now" Mike reassured him, bracing himself for the reaction of the other two.

"Sick to your….no wonder you …"Micky sputtered. "I thought you weren't bringing home food for yourself because you were eating at Antonelli's, but you weren't, were you?"

" Couldn't hold it down," Mike admitted reluctantly, avoiding their gazes. He wasn't sure he could stand the expressions he'd find in them no matter what direction they were leaning.

"For how long?" Davy asked quietly, pondering the revelation. He was supposed to be Mike's best friend. How had he missed that?

Mike shrugged. "A few days, I guess." He admitted at last.

"Mike I picked you up and carried you in my arms and brought you in here. I did. Without help." Micky informed him, unsure whether to be angry or just sad that his friend hadn't told them he was that sick. "That doesn't happen over just a few days, and there's no way you should ever be that thin, man. You should have told us so we could take care of you when it first started getting like that. All you had to do was tell us what to do. We'd have listened. You're our leader. More importantly, you're our friend. Of course we'd have listened."

"And don't say we aren't supposed to take care of you." Davy said quickly, preempting Mike's reply. " We've been over that. You're outvoted."

Uncertain how to respond to that, Mike chose to remain silent, though he did force himself to look up at them again. Instead, he sipped some more of the water Peter now held for him again and accepted the medication Micky offered him, taking it for the first time since he'd fallen without a struggle, willing to do just about anything to see that frightened look leave their eyes.

Meanwhile, Davy tried to steer the conversation back on course. "The next thing we definitely need to do, then, is get you eating. So, how about some homemade chicken noodle soup?"

"Homemade by who?" Mike asked, knowing full well how his roommates cooked, or rather didn't cook. Micky was the only one of the three who came close to cooking something edible with any regularity. Davy just sort of heated up whatever was in the refrigerator and hoped that would work, though he could put together a mean sandwich when called upon, and with Peter you were most likely to get something like cream of root beer soup.

"Maria made it for you. Apparently Lucy made her promise when she noticed you weren't feeling well," Davy replied.

"Aw, man. Lucy!" Mike groaned, making to rise again, only to be halted by three sets of hands. The movement set off another bout of painful sounding coughing, causing all three of his friends to worry once again. Three sets of hands pressed him gently but firmly back into the bed, tucking him in tightly and doing their best to hold him there as they patted his shoulder and did what little they could to sooth him.

"Don't do that." Micky warned him once he could breathe again. "I really will have Pete sit on you if I have to."

"And I'll do it, too." Pete assured him, nodding for emphasis.

"She was fine when I went over there earlier. Just worried about you." Davy assured their fallen leader, keeping his hands on Mike's shoulders a moment longer, just to be sure Mike wasn't going to try that again. " We've been taking turns going to see her and Micky promised to bring her over here to see you as soon as you were feeling up to visitors."

"Thanks, guys." Mike sighed, closing his eyes, abruptly very tired again.

"Sure thing. Now let's get some of that soup into you before you fall asleep again," Micky answered gently, exiting quickly to get it only to place it on the bedside table with a sigh when he returned to find Mike already out again.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter 5. I Must Get on My Feet Again_**

By Friday morning they'd managed to get Mike on schedule with the medicine the doctor left and, though still nowhere near 100%, he was feeling a little better and thinking a little clearer. Unfortunately, that meant he was also going stir crazy. By early evening he was at his wits end.

"What time's that doc supposed to come by," Mike asked again, trying to suppress the cough with a few sips of water and patently ignoring the foul tasting cough syrup Davy held out to him.

Davy rolled his eyes, "Not until six or so," he replied for what seemed the hundredth time, pushing the spoonful of medicine towards his friend's lips insistently. "Now will you just take this so you can stop coughing, please."

Mike finally gave in and took it, realizing that Davy wasn't going to give up, grimacing at the taste. He watched the clock as five minutes slowly ticked by. Unable to bear it anymore, he stood quickly and went to his drawer to pull out some pants, blinking aside the dizziness that accompanied that move and grabbing the edge of the dresser for support.

"Mike, get back in bed!" Davy demanded, hurrying to his side to take his arm in an effort to both keep his friend from falling and to enforce his instruction, panicked at the thought of a relapse.

"Where are my clothes?" Mike asked, opening one empty drawer after another.

Micky stood in the doorway and smiled. "I had a feeling it would come to this." He informed Davy before suggesting to Mike. "Uh…Mike…unless you're dying to get caught in your civvies by the company, you might want to get back in bed and cover up. Maria's bringing Lucy up the stairs now."

"Micky, where are my…" Mike began, his expression clouding.

"They're safe. You'll get them back when the doctor says you're actually allowed out of bed." Micky answered. Glancing over his shoulder, he warned, "They're almost here."

As quickly as he could manage it with Davy's help, Mike got back in the bed and covered up, shooting Micky a brooding glare which only served to make him and Davy laugh as the younger boy tucked the Texan in.

"You'd rather we actually had Peter sit on you?" Davy grinned.

"I'd rather y'all gave me back my clothes." Mike answered gruffly.

His mood turned around the moment he heard the excited exclamation of "MICHAEL!" from the doorway. Micky had stepped aside to admit them, and Maria laughed as her child all but dove out of her arms, reaching for Mike. "I missed you!" Lucy told him as he caught her.

"I missed you too, Lucy," Mike replied. The child threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Mike wrapped his arms around the child and held her gently to him.

Maria watched them, her eyes moist, with a smile upon her face. "I'm glad you are feeling better, Michael."

Lucy took his face in her hands and looked right into his eyes. "We were very worried about you." She informed him gravely.

"I'm sorry about that, Lucy." Mike sighed, placing his own hands over the child's tiny ones. "I'll try not to let it happen again."

"It's okay." The little girl smiled brightly. "You're getting all better now and Peter's been teaching me to play guitar just like you were and they came to visit me. But I still missed you. You'll be able to come back over soon, won't you Michael?"

"Real soon," Mike agreed, a smile of his own threatening, as he found it often did when in Lucy's presence. He sat quietly then, listening with rapt attention to the child as she detailed everything he'd missed since falling ill. The others vacated, leaving Mike to the care of the little girl he'd obviously come to adore.

"He looks better," Maria offered as they reached the livingroom area.

"He's still way too pale," Davy frowned, still thinking there had to be something more they could be doing to help Mike get better faster.

"He's feeling better, though. That's the part that counts." Micky reminded him.

"And he's eating again. Sort of." Peter said from where he stood at the hot plate warming something in a pot.

"What are you doing, Pete?" Micky asked, abruptly worried as the smell of root beer and Italian seasoning filled the house.

"Making dinner." A smiling Peter replied. "It's my turn, right?"

Maria looked from Davy to Micky, horrified. "Um…actually," she said, moving into the kitchen. "I had thought I would cook for you all tonight. If that is okay."

"Mike's not managing much more than soups right now, though." Pete told her, gesturing to the pot.

Maria tried hard not to cringe at its contents, nodding instead. "I'll make sure I make him a nice one, then." she promised.

"Okay," Peter agreed easily enough. "I'll just put this into the fridge for later, then."

"Sure, Pete," Micky agreed after mouthing 'thank you' to Maria behind the blonde's back. "You do that."

Maria opened the refrigerator and frowned. Closing it, she went from cupboard to cupboard, taking inventory of what the boys had. Seeing how meager their contents were, she turned to the boys with a frown, suddenly worried for more than just Michael. "Where is all your food?" she asked at last.

"Um…we...see…we uh…we haven't worked in awhile." Micky began. Realizing that wasn't exactly accurate, he tried again, "Well, we worked, but we haven't got paid."

"We got paid, but we had to give it back." Davy corrected.

"It's my fault," Peter sighed sadly.

"No, Pete, it isn't. I told you to put the glass down there…" Micky began.

"and I bumped into your bass when we were singing…" Davy continued.

"And I hit the glass and knocked it into the lighting panel." Peter concluded.

Maria listened, nodding as the situation became clearer. "Ah. Okay, then. Micky, could you take me home? It will only take me a few minutes to get together the things I need, and then we'll come back and make dinner. Okay?"

"Sure. You guys got him 'till we get back?" Micky asked the others.

"Lucy's got him," Davy reminded him. "But we'll be listening in case they need us."

Satisfied with that answer, Micky drove Maria home and, true to her word, she gathered a good amount of ingredients together rapidly and hurried back to the car. "I think there should be enough for a few days here." she told Micky, showing him the contents of the bag she held.

"Hey, that's great. But…you don't have to do that." Micky said. "Mr. Antonelli lets us bring plates home on nights we work. Which is every night, actually. At least until we get that control panel paid off. "

"That covers one meal. What about the rest?" Maria asked.

Micky shrugged. "We do alright." He sighed, defaulting to Mike's pat answer when he couldn't seem to come up with a better one on his own.

Maria just nodded, promising herself to help more. After all the boys were doing for her little girl, she couldn't help but believe she owed them at least that much. Besides, she couldn't quite get past feeling responsible for Mike at the moment. After all, he'd gotten sick in the first place because he'd come to her rescue.

Pulling into the driveway of the beach house, Micky hesitated a moment. Maria looked at him expectantly, as he obviously had something on his mind.

"I was wondering if you and Mike were…you know…" Micky flushed red. He grew redder still when Maria laughed.

"What? No…no no, we are just friends. I adore your friend, don't get me wrong, but," Maria told him, holding up her left hand and pointing to the ring. "I am married."

Micky looked stunned. "Where's your husband?"

Maria looked sad as she replied evasively. "Away."

"Oh, man. I'm sorry, Maria. I just thought…you know. I didn't know." Micky offered lamely, realizing he'd stumbled into a conversation neither of them wanted to be in. "Does Mike know?"

"It's okay, Micky." Maria answered, brushing it aside and getting out of the car. "And of course Michael knows. Now, let's get you all fed. Okay?"

Micky smiled, getting out of the car and following Maria back into the beach house. Half an hour later, dinner was ready. Davy quickly moved to prepare a tray for Mike.

"No, sit. Please. I'll do that. I need to bring Lucia down anyway." Maria told him, filling a bowl with soup and selecting a bread roll for Mike, placing them on the tray Davy held.

"Actually, I was thinking that Mike might do better if she could stay where she is, if you don't mind?" Davy admitted. "He's sort of taken with her, you know, and if she wanted him to keep still a little longer or to eat a bit more, he might try for her."

Maria considered his point. The Texan had been almost too thin when they'd first met, and illness had done him no favors in that area. If anything could help him regain the weight he'd lost they had to try it. "I think you may be right," she conceded. Taking the tray from Davy's hands, she nodded again to the table. "Now sit and eat. Lucy and I will see to Michael."

Davy grinned as Maria hurried up the stairs with the tray. "Do you think she likes him?" he asked the other two.

"Doesn't matter." Micky frowned. "She's married."

"She's what?" Davy demanded.

"Married?" Pete exclaimed. "Does Mike know?"

"She says he does." Micky replied. He turned his attention to the spread before them of creamy soup, salad and bread rolls on the table.

"Where's her husband, then?" Davy asked, certain a man would have to be mad to leave their wife and child alone. "Why haven't we met him yet?"

"All she said was away." Micky quoted around a mouthful of bread. "She seemed sort of upset over it, though, so I'm guessing it wasn't her idea."

"Oh man. That's rough." Peter commented, genuine sadness in his eyes at their new friend's plight. "I wonder where he went."

"No clue." Micky shrugged. "I imagine he'll be back though. I mean…if you were married to her, and had a kid like Lucy, you'd come back. Right? She seems to be doing okay more or less as long as we don't bring it up, anyway, and she's got us to look out for her until he gets back. That should be easy enough." Micky assured them. Trying to distract them from asking anymore questions, he plastered on a smile and added. "Now come on. Dig in, guys. You gotta try this."

The other two didn't wait to be asked again. Their repast was quickly interrupted, however, by a knock upon the door.

"I got it," Peter called out, jumping up and flinging the door open. Doctor Parsons smiled at the boy, nodding as the blonde stepped back to admit him. "Hi, Doc." Peter grinned. "We were just eating dinner. You want some?"

Parsons couldn't help but grin as he shook his head. "No thank you, son, I just came to check in on our boy. How's he doing?"

"Better," Micky answered as he shoveled in another forkful of salad. "He should be eating right now, too."

"We hope," Davy added sotto voce, knowing how adept Mike seemed to have become at avoiding that task.

"Good, now, you," Parsons pointed at Micky, "slow down before you choke." He waited patiently for the other two to stop laughing at the curly haired youth before asking simply, "Anything I should be aware of before heading up?"

"He's been very restless today. Got clear across the room an hour or so ago. Almost fell, too, but it didn't seem to change his mind any," Davy replied. "If Micky hadn't hid his clothes he'd have thrown the whole stay down thing out the window and gone till he fell out again, I'll wager."

"Maybe not," Peter argued, thinking they should at least try to give Mike the benefit of the doubt.

Parsons nodded, heading toward the stairs. "I had a feeling we'd be getting there sooner rather than later from what you boys told me before. I'm glad he's feeling up to getting out of bed, but somehow I doubt he's got any idea what a long haul he's in for, and I think I'd rather not have his recovery hinging on a maybe when it comes to following my orders."

The other three exchanged a look before abandoning their half-eaten meals, supposing that the doctor might need backup in this particular battle of the wills.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6. The way your head yields to your heart_

Maria paused in the doorway and smiled at the two who lay sleeping within the room. Lucy was curled up on Mike's chest, his long arms encircling her gently. Setting the tray aside, Maria sat on the edge of the bed, gently brushing raven hair back from the sleeping man's pale face, feeling the heat that still radiated from him as she did so. She pulled her hand back quickly, blushing, when his dark eyes opened, blinking in surprise to find her sitting there.

"Hey," he whispered, a hint of a smile upon his lips. "I…um...I think she's out…" he quirked a brow as he glanced down at the child sleeping peacefully in his arms.

"You both were," Maria smiled. "It's good you woke, though. It's time for you to eat. I brought you up some dinner." Rather than taking the child from him, she dipped the spoon into the bowl and brought it carefully to his lips. "Open." she instructed.

Mike smiled in spite of himself, looking away and reddening a bit. "I been feedin' myself a long time, you know…I think I can manage just fine…"

"Open." She directed again, laughing quietly. "You can't very well hold her and feed yourself."

"Just leave it there and I'll get to it when…" Mike began, only to find the spoon placed in his mouth mid-sentence.

"I would rather see you eat it now." Maria answered with a self-satisfied smirk, dipping the spoon into the bowl again.

"Frankly, so would I," Doctor Parsons agreed from where he stood quietly in the doorway, ignoring the snickering from the three behind them. So much for needing backup, it seemed. "I'm glad to see they found a way to keep you still, young man. Beyond hiding your clothing, that is. Go on and finish your dinner. I'll wait."

Mike looked from the doctor to Maria and sighed, opening his mouth with a roll of his eyes that made Maria laugh again. "Bien chico…" she teased, then leaned forward impulsively and kissed him on the forehead, causing both to blush even brighter.

"Yeah, well, I'm still tellin' Lucy I was ganged up on," Mike teased back, shaking his head.

"You do that. After dinner." Maria agreed, holding out another spoonful.

The doctor just smiled at the byplay, then stepped out to let them finish up without an audience.

"Is he okay?" Peter asked hopefully, ignoring the fact that the doctor hadn't actually stepped any further into the room than the doorway.

"I'll let you know after I check him out," the doctor promised, patting the youthful blonde's arm. "Is that his family in there with him?"

Micky shook his head. "Nah, just friends. She lives a couple houses away. Her little girl is nuts for him."

"From what I saw she may not be the only one," the doctor mused. He listened closely to the sound of coughing coming from the room. "That'll likely hang on awhile, and I know it still sounds pretty rough, but as long as it doesn't get any worse I'd be willing to guess we're on the right track with him. I'll know more once I've looked at him."

Maria came out, shaking her head and smiling, with the tray in her hands. The doctor looked at the half eaten meal and frowned.

"It's hard to eat when you're falling asleep," Maria defended Mike quickly as she moved past them down the stairs and back into the kitchen area. "Breakfast will be better."

The doctor stepped into the room and shook his head. How was he supposed to check the young man out properly with the child still there in his arms? Maria returned a moment later to solve that problem, gathering Lucia into her arms. Both man and child awoke, the child protesting as she was removed from where she slept. Mike watched them leave the room with a sad, almost wistful expression.

"So, now, young man. How do you feel?" the doctor asked, opening his bag and withdrawing his stethoscope.

"With my fingers, usually," Mike deadpanned before, noting the doctors look of disapproval, answering with a sigh," I'm feelin' better, thanks. Just lookin' to get up out of this bed and back to what needs doin', now, if you don't mind."

"Well, I'll tell you what. Let's have us a look and a listen and I'll let you know whether I mind or not. How's that?" the doctor replied before popping a thermometer into Mike's mouth and instructing him to be silent while he listened to the sound of his heart and lungs. He checked the thermometer, then had Mike take a few deep breaths, or rather attempt to. He waited patiently for the coughing to still again, then looked closely at the young man, noting the paleness of his skin and the fatigue he still couldn't seem to shake. After a few moments, Doc Parsons turned back to his bag, putting his stethoscope back. He sat down next to Mike and looked at him sternly. "I'll make you a deal son. I'll let you as far as one of those chairs downstairs, but that's it. You're still not to be up and around and over-doing it again. I understand you're feeling a bit better, and that's good, but you're not there yet and if you push it too hard you'll end up undoing all my good work here. Besides, you may find even that much exertion to be more challenging than you think. Which is why, in exchange for allowing you out of this bed, you have to make me a few promises." Mike's eyes narrowed at that. He wasn't one for giving his word just for convenience sake. "Nothing too difficult. You just promise me that you're not going to push yourself right now. Your job right now is to eat, drink and sleep, and those are the only jobs you're to try and do right now. Well, and take your medicine, of course, that goes without saying. I want your word on that."

"Well, wait a minute, now. What if I just want some fresh air?" Mike pressed, looking for a way out of the pad. He wasn't used to being cooped up and it was driving him more than a little crazy.

"We might could extend that freedom to allow you as far as one of those deck chairs on your balcony, but only if it's not too breezy out and only if you've agreed to my conditions. I'm still waiting for that promise, young man." Doc Parsons pushed back.

Mike hesitated. "Well, what if I'm not quite ready to make any promises?" he asked, his mind already cataloguing all the work that was likely falling behind while he laid around.

Doc Parsons shrugged. "In that case, I'm afraid I'll have to insist that you be kept right here where you are." He sighed. "Look, son, I know from what the other boys have told me that you're used to taking on the bulk of things that, as you so eloquently put it, 'need doing' around here, but right now you just can't. You're going to find that out the hard way if you try it. Right now a relapse is still a very real possibility and those friends of yours not prepared to risk that even if you think you are."He held up a hand to stave off the arguments he could see building behind Mike's eyes, "You need to focus on just taking it easy, and maybe letting those boys out there take care of you for awhile longer. They were scared to death when they found you the way they did, and I can tell you they still are, and rightly so. They're not ready to lose you just yet, and you had them thinking they just might. They'll do just about anything you need them to do to keep you from ending up like that again. So let them. Reign in this all out pig headedness of yours and let them handle things for awhile. They need to see you well, and that's just not going to happen unless you do things my way. Do you understand?"

Mike looked down at his hands, fidgeting restlessly upon the blankets, considering what the doctor said about his friends. He hadn't meant to scare them that way and it bothered him greatly to think they might still be that afraid all because of him. "Yes, sir," he answered softly at last.

"Then I have your word?" Parsons asked again.

Mike hesitated again for a moment, then gave the barest hint of a nod.

Parsons, knowing from the others how Mike felt about the importance of his word, smiled. "I'd like to hear it, just so we're clear."

"I give you my word," Mike replied at last, so quietly it might have gone unheard had the doctor not been sitting so close to him. "We do this your way."

"Good boy," the doctor smiled, patting Mike's leg as he stood up. "You try to go on back to sleep now. I'll see you in a week."


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7. And Softly as I Walk Away In Freshly Tattered Shoes_

Mike awoke the next morning and rose carefully, remembering the dizziness that hit last time he tried that. He remained as quiet as he could, noting that Micky was still sleeping soundly in the bed across from his. He blew out a frustrated breath as he made his way on legs of rubber to his dresser again and found that there were still no clothes in the drawers.

"Over here," Davy called from his chair on the other side of Mike's bed, startling Mike and causing him to jump. Davy was at his side quickly, steadying his friend before he could fall.

Mike looked at him wryly. "Don't do that." He groaned, shaking his head as he carefully regained his footing.

"Sorry, Mike. I just thought you might like something to wear." Davy replied, gesturing to the clothes on the bedside table.

Mike sighed in relief. "Thanks, Tiny. I thought maybe Micky forgot to give…" he stopped with a frown as he took in the blue plaid drawstring pajama pants and plain white undershirt laying there with his house robe and slippers. "Wait a minute. I can't wear that anywhere."

"Yeah, well, that's sort of the point," Davy admitted. "Since Doctor Parsons said you weren't allowed out of the pad, on account of you're supposed to still be resting and all, we thought we'd give you something you could just lounge and be comfortable and…you know…not go anywhere else in."

"Come on, guys. I gave my word. I'm not gonna try to go anywhere. Now where are my jeans?" Mike groaned.

"You'll get those back when you can wear them without having to add so many extra holes in your belt to keep them up again." Micky chimed in from where he lay without bothering to open his eyes.

"We've all had to do that, Mick. An extra hole or two isn't any reason…" Mike began, his frustration mounting.

"six, Mike…" Micky corrected.

"Six?" Davy repeated, sounding shocked. "Mike…"

"Okay, six." Mike headed Davy off, really needing them to focus on something else. "You don't need to make it out like it's such a big thing."

"Okay, we won't." Micky agreed, sitting up and looking at Mike seriously. "Now get dressed and we'll see you downstairs." He gestured for Davy to follow him as he made his way out the door, leaving Mike little choice but to put on the clothes they'd given him.

"This is ridiculous," Mike grumbled to himself. A soft tap at the door encouraged him to finish dressing quickly. "Come in."

Pete poked his head in. "Mike?"

"Yeah, Pete." Mike answered, almost smiling in spite of himself.

"I wanted to see if you wanted any help down the stairs." Pete offered, fidgeting nervously. "I know you're tired of being fussed at, but I just…" Pete swallowed as the mental image of his fear seemed to cloud his vision. "I didn't want you to come down alone in case…"

Mike watched Peter's body language a moment, and sighed, realizing what it was Peter was trying to hard not to say. "Thanks, Pete." He said softly. "Might not be a good idea to land on my keister on my first try out, huh?"

"Yeah," Peter smiled, relieved to find that Mike understood. "And, hey, Maria and Lucy are back. She made pancakes this morning. We sort of told her how much you liked them. Hope you're hungry." Mike plastered on his best attempt at a smile, hoping he was, too. It seemed like no matter how hard he tried right now, his appetite continued to fail him. Nothing seemed to sit right on his ever-testy stomach, which did absolutely nothing to alleviate his friends concerns or, apparently, get his clothes back from wherever Micky hid them.

About halfway down the stairs, Mike found his energy and equilibrium just about gone. Holding on tightly to the railing, he paused, lowering his head and breathing slowly in an effort to steady himself, hoping the others wouldn't notice. Those hopes faded quickly when the effort to breathe gave way to coughing again.

"Here, sit down." Pete urged, pressing Mike gently onto the step behind him. He closed his eyes then, thinking through his friend's plight as the coughing stilled, allowing the taller boy to take in air again. Then his eyes opened wide and his smiled brightened as the solution came to him. "We could all just eat here if you want."

Mike looked at Pete and shook his head, a bemused smile touching the corner of his lips. "No Pete, you go on before it gets cold. I'll get myself down there in a minute."

Pete turned a panicked expression to the others, silently pleading for help.

Davy was there quickly to lend a hand. "Peter you take hold on that side and I'll get this one," he said as moved to place an arm around Mike's waist. "Up you go."

"Sure. That way if I fall I take you both with me?" Mike queried softly, shaking his head again as he attempted to disentangle himself from the friends he'd inadvertently worried again. "No good, Tiny. I'm not riskin' either of you gettin' hurt. I'll get there on my own power, thanks."

Micky looked at Peter and raised a brow as he tapped Davy on the shoulder, moving him aside. The blonde nodded and drew Mike's arm up over his shoulder, standing and hauling their taller friend up with him, ignoring any further protests. Micky quickly took Davy's place on the other side and together they brought him to the nearest comfy chair. Placing his feet up on the coffee table, Davy picked up a soft blanket Maria had brought from home, one of Lucia's favorites that the child had insisted Mike needed to have it seemed, and tucked it over him. "There you go," he smiled, stepping back and snatching the want ads and pen Mike had picked up away from him quickly as Maria brought Mike's breakfast to him. Davy stood watching a moment, kicking something under the couch, hoping that Mike wouldn't notice it. They'd tried to clean up before Mike got downstairs but somehow they still managed to miss things.

"Now, how's this any different than me layin' around up there," Mike exclaimed, his brow furrowed. The last thing he'd intended to do when he came down the stairs was lay back down and be useless. He'd done enough of that. Now he needed to be actually doing something useful.

Davy tried to suppress a grin as he quipped, "More room down here for the rest of us?" in an effort to relieve some of the rapidly building tension.

Mike sighed, looking determinedly at the plate in his lap as he tried to organize his thoughts. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. He wasn't sure which was worse: feeling helpless or being treated as if he were.

Recognizing the look in his best friend's eyes, Davy placed a hand on his arm. "It's alright, Mike. Just go with it for now. Please?"

Mike glanced at Davy and nearly smiled, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, okay Tiny." He agreed reluctantly. It wasn't so much that he wanted to agree, though, as it was he really didn't seem to have a choice. Not when his own body seemed to be conspiring against him so determinedly. Besides, it wasn't as if they needed him to jump up and do anything right then, he noticed. The pad was reasonably neat, with few things left needing done – a bit more dusting here, sweeping under furniture there, minor nitpicks, really, that only he would probably notice - and it had, to his surprise, gotten that way without him.

They'd all gotten on just fine without him.

"Michael," Lucy called from the table. "You're all better now?"

"Getting' there," Mike answered, a wry grin touching his lips as he pushed all other thoughts aside for the moment.

"Good," the child exclaimed as she wheeled herself over to where he sat. Mike moved to set the plate aside so that he could pick her up.

Micky intervened quickly, whisking the chair back so the child was just out of reach. "Nope. Sorry. New rule. No picking up the Lucys until after noon. Which means you should have plenty of time to eat all that first."

Mike's eyes narrowed a moment, then closed as he surrendered, remembering again the promise he'd made. "Right. Fine. " Instead of arguing further he leaned conspiratorially toward Lucy and whispered, "Que están haciendo equipo contra mí." Making the child giggle.

"Veo que," she whispered back. "Lo que debemos hacer?**"**

"Alright that's it," Micky mock-growled, spinning the child quickly to make her laugh even harder. "No plotting against us, you!"

Peter and Davy, though smiling, looked at each other and shrugged, neither having any idea what was said.

"He told her we were ganging up on him," Maria translated, laughing. "She asked him 'what should we do'."

"Hey!" Pete protested with a smile. "What do you mean 'we'?"

"Just look at that!" Davy exclaimed, reaching out to tickle the little girl. "I thought you were on our side!"

"Children," Maria called out, clapping her hands in an effort to get their attention after several long moments of horseplay continued to distract them all, including Michael, from their breakfast. Her attempt at a stern look was marred by the mirth in her eyes as she pointed to the table. "When I said it was time to eat that meant ALL of you."

"uh, oh…" Micky stage whispered to the others. "Mama's mad." He quickly wheeled Lucy back to the table, followed by the other two boys.

"Much better," Maria smiled, settling into the other armchair in the livingroom area and turning her attention to Michael.

"Aren't you havin' any?" Mike asked as he half-heartedly moved the food around on his plate, shifting self-consciously under her scrutiny.

"I ate before we came," Maria answered, finding his discomfort over her attention curious for someone who was onstage in front of crowds regularly.

"Oh…um…okay," Mike frowned, randomly picking up pieces of the food on the fork only to slide them back off again on the side of the plate. "So you just came here to spoil us, then?"

"That's right. Now stop playing with your food and eat before I decide I need to feed you again." Maria ordered, watching him closely.

The four at the table snickered at that. Mike just flushed with embarrassment and looked away. "I'm gettin' to it." He protested softly.

Maria folded her arms and looked at him sternly. "Michael," she warned him after another long moment, reaching for the fork.

He quickly popped a small bite into his mouth, looking at her pointedly, before holding the fork out of her reach. "I got it."

Maria threw up her hands in surrender, "Okay. I'll come back for the _empty_ plate." She replied, shaking her head as she went to get him some juice, supposing that his stomach might still be a bit touchy for something as sweet as pancakes but still wishing he'd make a bit more of an effort to get some of it down.

Mike bit back a retort, knowing that she, like everyone around him, was only trying to help. He found himself really wishing they'd put in less of an effort, though. He wasn't sure how much more of this fussing he could stand. His own mother had never made such a production out of him or his siblings being ill, no matter how ill they got. Most of the times she had so much on her plate just trying to keep a roof over their head and the family together – an effort she was ultimately unsuccessful at – she didn't even notice any of them. He learned early that it was his job as the eldest to take care of the rest his family, and himself as well. Nobody else was going to do it. Even after they'd all been split up, the younger ones eventually adopted by families that actually wanted them while he was bounced from one much-put-upon family member to another, though, he'd been pretty much left to his own. He'd just figured that was how it was supposed to be. He was so uncomfortable with any sort of constant attention now that he really didn't think he could tolerate it much longer.

"Are you angry with Mama, Michael?" Lucy asked, her eyes wide as she watched the byplay between them.

"What? No…oh no, Lucy, I'm not. Of course not…I, I'm …I'm just…." Mike closed his eyes a moment, gathering his thoughts, shaking his head. "I'm sorry guys. I guess maybe I'm testier than I ought to be it's just…it's all the fuss…I just…I need…" he blew out a frustrated breath, stumbling hopelessly over his words as he realized he was uncertain how exactly to explain what it was he needed in this. "Nevermind. I'll just sit over here and…" He held up his fork in a mock salute before stabbing another piece of pancake and putting it into his mouth, focusing his full attention on the plate in his lap if only to provide himself an excuse to stop talking now.

"We understand," Peter assured him, looking to the others for confirmation. The other two boys agreed readily. Of course they understood. Or, at least, they thought they did. But even if they didn't, they'd accept it because they cared too much about Mike not to.

Maria hesitated a moment, though, then admitted quietly, "I don't. Not really. You're frustrated. I see that. You're uncomfortable with all the attention and you're angry with the situation. But I don't understand why. You're sick. People who care about you take care of you when you're sick, right? This can't be the first time someone's taken care of you."

Mike shrugged but didn't look up. He didn't dare. Not when answering would risk opening old wounds better left alone. "I prefer to take care of myself." He said at last, deciding that any other answer risked more than he was willing to deal with right that moment.

"Yes, and look what a bang-up job he's done at it, too," Micky added, prompting Mike to throw him a scathing look. "Teasing..." he held his hands up defensively.

"Hey, Lucy, do you want to go feed the seagulls?" Davy suggested, thinking maybe a few less people looking on and chiming in might be a good thing for his friend right that minute.

"Can I, Mama?" Lucy asked hopefully. She didn't get to go to the beach very often despite living right there on it. Maria didn't swim, and few people wanted the responsibility of taking her even if Maria felt she could trust them enough to let them do that.

Maria nodded, her eyes still fixed on Michael, who still wouldn't meet her gaze. "You may, but not for too long. We still need to go back and get you ready for school."

Micky wheeled the child quickly out the door, with Peter and Davy grabbing a few pancakes each for the birds and following quickly behind them. Maria waited until the door was closed and she sound of her daughter's excited chatter had faded before seating herself back upon the footstool.

"I'm confused." She admitted. "When you are onstage you have all these people giving you their undivided attention. Staring at you. Studying you. Judging everything you do. That doesn't seem to bother you. But this…the attention of people who care about you … that does?"

Mike set the plate in his lap aside but didn't look up as he replied softly, "I'm not really the one they're watchin' most times. I'm just that guy in the corner on guitar. But even when I am…it's different. When people watch you onstage, they aren't really watching you. You're just hands on a guitar …maybe a voice behind a mic. The person behind the mic or the instrument is …well… almost tangential."

"Almost what?" Maria asked, not sure what that word meant but certain from the context that it wasn't flattering.

A soft smile touched his lips as he replied, "Nevermind. It's not important."

"Please, Michael, " Maria pressed. "Explain to me what you meant."

Mike hesitated, shaking his head. He knew he still wasn't thinking as straight as he should be just by the fact that he'd stepped in this one. Finally, reluctantly, he explained. "Tangential…it means barely relevant. You know. Not really the important part of it." He coughed, closing his eyes as he raised his head slowly. He sipped the juice she'd brought him, then continued quietly, looking at her at last. "I get to go up there and do my thing and maybe a verse or a phrase might do somethin' once in awhile to somebody listenin', and that's great. That's a real gas. But it's the music that does it, really. I'm just sort of there. You dig? Tomorrow night someone else could go up there and do my part and they'd still feel the same thing. The closest I come to bein' important is I get to introduce the band and the songs, but any one of the guys could do that just as well and maybe even get taken more seriously for it, since none of them sound quite as…well, Texan…as I do." That's when it hit him. They'd spent two years of struggling all together. Had he been what was holding them back?

Maria felt numb as she listened. Did he really think he was so easily replaced? She opened her mouth to ask, only to be waved off by Mike who, seeing the look in her eyes, was fairly certain this already uncomfortable conversation wasn't going anywhere else he could stand to be right then. "Look," he said, "Can we move on away from this? Seriously. Let's get onto somethin' else. "

"Alright. How about answering my first question. This can't be the first time you've been sick and someone's taken care of you," Maria pressed, curious to note he was avoiding her gaze again. "Why do you fight it so hard?"

Mike just looked down at his hands as he answered softly, "I never did take much to bein' fussed at." He sighed, leaving out the fact that fussing at him and taking care of him were generally pretty much mutually exclusive terms anyway. There was always someone fussing at him, telling him how he'd failed again to live up to another of their expectations. Sickness or injury, though, weren't their problems. He was on his own then. Noting from her expression that she was less than satisfied with that answer, he finally admitted softly, "I wasn't exactly what you'd call a priority for things like that growin' up. It's just not somethin' I'm good with, okay?"

"So you were 'tangential' growing up, too?" Maria frowned. How could anyone ever make someone else, especially a child, feel that way? She wrapped her arms around herself if only to prevent herself from wrapping them around the tall, slender Texan.

He shrugged again as he moved the blanket back then and made to rise, his eyes on his beloved Gretch, thinking right then might be a good time for some distraction.

"Sit still, Michael." Maria sighed sadly, noting the direction of his gaze. "I'll get it."

Mike did as asked, still trying to abide by his promise, which he now fervently wished he hadn't made. Still, he couldn't help but be relieved when Davy and Pete came back in.

"Micky's got Lucy," Pete told Maria. "They'll be here in a minute."

Maria handed Mike his guitar and moved to clear the table. "Thank you, Peter," she said softly as she finished her task. "I'll meet them on the way. I need to gather Lucia and go home."

"Is everything okay, Mike?" Davy asked, noting the tension seemed worse now than when they'd gone out.

Mike began tuning the Gretch, considering how to answer that in a way that wouldn't either be dishonest or blow up in his face.

"No it isn't." Maria answered matter-of-factly as she retrieved her coat. "Michael thinks he is …what was your word…tangential?" She shook her head as she exited, leaving the other boys to try to make Michael understand how wrong he was.

"Now, she's takin' that way outa context," Mike sighed trying to ignore the shocked and wounded look in Davy and Peter's faces. He began picking out a random melody hoping that the subject would drop.

"Do we make you feel like that?" Peter asked sadly.

"No, you don't make me...Pete, you could never make anyone feel like that," Mike protested. "Besides, I was talking about music, not me personally." He added, though a voice in the back of his head scoffed at the notion that the word applied to himself any less. After all, they'd gotten on here at the pad just fine without him all week, hadn't they? There wasn't a sign anywhere that said they'd really needed him at all. While things may not be done to his specifications, they were clearly done well enough to suit his three roommates. And, they were done without him.

Davy frowned. "You're not tangential to our music, either." He argued softly.

"Well actually we sort of better hope I am," Mike disagreed, trying for an aloofness he didn't feel. He knew full well that, with Peter teaching Davy bass, he wasn't really needed anymore. Peter could play his parts as well as he could. Maybe even better. Yawning then coughing, he waved off three sets of hands reaching to help, knowing that the time had come to cut them loose. Knowing they needed to be able to do this without him, and for the first time reasonably certain, though somewhat saddened to realize, they really could, he pressed on, "The way I see it, we've got about a week before rent's due and there's no way I'm gonna be able to do much about it at this rate and still keep that dang fool promise I went and made Doc Parsons. You three may have to handle it this time without me."

"Handle what?" Micky asked as he entered, waved goodbye to Maria and Lucy, and closed the door.

"Rent." Peter answered,

Davy shook his head, unable to believe Mike was suggesting what he seemed to be. "You're asking us to go onstage without you?"

"No, I'm tellin' you that you have to," Mike replied, coughing again despite his best efforts not to. "I'm sorry, guys, but we've gotta do somethin' if we want to keep a roof over our heads, and I just don't have any other ideas at the moment."

Peter quickly handed him his juice, sitting on the coffee table in front of him, ignoring his efforts to wave him off and waiting for him to settle before answering simply, "No."

"Now, Pete," Mike began, only to get cut off by Peter again replying, "No."

"Peter," Mike tried again.

Peter didn't wait to hear it a third time. Instead he rose and went to his room, closing the door firmly behind him.

"Dangit, now look…" Mike groaned, setting his guitar beside the chair and waving away hands that reached out to help. Making his way on shaky legs to Peter's door, he tapped lightly. "Come on now, Pete. Let me in. Let's talk a minute."

After what seemed a very long moment the door finally opened. Peter put an arm around Mike's waist and guided him in to sit on one of the beds, unwilling to let him fall even now, which caused Mike to smile lopsidedly.

"You're not tangential," Peter said quietly. "And I won't sit by and listen to you say anything like that. I…"

"I know, Pete. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Mike interrupted quietly. It didn't matter whether he believed it or not. It didn't even matter that they'd sort of already proven him right on this one. What mattered was that saying it out loud hurt the sensitive blonde's feelings, and there's just no way he'd ever willingly do that. "Just chalk it up to me still not thinkin' straight, okay. I know you guys don't feel that way, and …"

"But you do." Peter sighed. "Don't you."

Mike put an arm around Peter's shoulders. "Come on, Shotgun. Let's not do this right yet. Let's just focus on how we're gonna get our rent paid for now and leave the rest for some other day. Okay?"

Pete looked at the floor, his expression one of profound sadness, but conceded with a nod of his head. He'd let it go for now, but somehow he knew they were all going to have to return to this conversation again.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8. Play the Drum A Little Bit Louder_

At Mike's request Mr Antonelli had agreed to let Micky, Peter and Davy return the following week as a trio to finish out the last week they'd postponed, and even he paid them full wages for it, deciding they'd put in more than enough hours to compensate him for the lighting panel. Besides, if he had to be honest about it, he was rather fond of the boys and he really did want to help them. The notion that the tall boy who'd worked so hard for him was ill and alone, though, didn't sit well with him.

"I don't like it either, but we don't seem to have much choice, "Micky admitted to the other two with a frown. "Like Mike said, he can manage alright now and we've got to pay rent."

"Yes, but…" Peter began, then stopped mid-thought, as he often did when he feared upsetting someone else with what he'd been about to say, shaking his head.

Davy placed a hand on his friend's arm. "What is it, Peter?"

"I thought that us taking care of everything would make him happy but…" Peter started, then shook his head again.

"But?" Micky pressed gently, though he thought perhaps he knew what it was that was bothering the blonde, since he'd noticed it himself.

"It just seems like the more we prove that we can do this all without him, the more we prove him right, and I don't want to prove him right because he isn't right. He's not…" Peter blurted, catching himself before he could say the hateful word again out loud, as if speaking it would give it even more power.

"Not….what?" Davy pressed, growing frustrated.

Peter looked at the other two, his eyes filled with sadness. "Tangential."

The other two looked stunned. "I thought we'd settled this," Davy said at last. "Of course he's not. Nobody ever believed he was, and we…"

"Except for him," Peter interrupted. "He believed he was. He said we'd talk about it later, but we didn't. We talked about music and rent and Lucy and how much coffee went up even though it hasn't really but we didn't talk about that even though I tried to talk about it when he was making the coffee. He won't talk about it, but he really believes it."

"You must be joking!" Davy exclaimed. "How could he possibly ever think that?"

Micky started to reply, only to be interrupted by Mr. Antonelli, reminding them it was time to go back on the stage.

"We'll pick this up at the pad later," Micky told the other two. "Right now we gotta go on."

Without Mike to take the lead on stage, Davy was left to introduce them and their songs. Mike had coached him well on how to do it, though, and the crowd just ate up the adorable brunette with the English accent. Davy picked up the ¾ size bass he'd been given for Christmas, hoping he'd remember what Peter had taught him as the blonde took up the electric guitar Mike loaned him and launched them into "Take a Giant Step". The crowd seemed to enjoy the set and, by the time they were done, had worn themselves out dancing to just about every song.

"Wow, that was great," Micky gushed as they put the instruments away. "They really seemed to dig us tonight."

"yeah…" Peter answered, smiling and bouncing as he put away the guitar he'd been playing before stopping, looking completely stricken. "They dug us without him…that's what he meant, isn't it?"

"What are you on about," Davy asked as he closed the case to his ¾ size bass. "They liked us fine, but that doesn't mean they like us better without him."

"Exactly. If anything it means he did his part well adjusting the arrangements and making sure we were ready to go on…" Micky tried to reassure Peter, but to no avail. The blonde shook his head, looking at the guitar as if it were a weapon he'd just wielded against their tall Texan friend. "Pete, let's talk about this when we get home and we can all talk about it together. Save us the trouble of saying the same stuff twice, okay?"

Peter nodded mutely and headed, head down, out to the Monkeemobile.

"Man, we gotta do something." Micky sighed as he finished packing up his drum kit and proceeded to wheel it out to the car. "Between Mike and Peter this is getting out of hand."

"I really thought Mike had let that go," Davy fretted, his bushy brows furrowing as he accompanied him. He climbed into the passenger seat, noting with little surprise that Peter had opted to sit alone in the back.

"It's not him letting it go I'm worried about. Mike's good at letting things go, or at least not talking about them anymore. That doesn't mean they let him go." Micky replied after loading their gear into the car and settling into the driver's seat.

"It's not as if nobody noticed he was missing," Davy shrugged as he buckled up. "I didn't get anywhere at all with that redhead. Turns out she and her friends only came up to me at all to find out where the 'dreamy guy with the cute accent was'. I tried to tell her I was right in front of her, but it seems she prefers her blokes a bit taller."

"Just a bit, huh?" Micky teased shaking his head, laughing out loud when two dark eyes fixed him with a scathing glare. "Just make sure to tell our stubborn friend at home that one, will you? Maybe hearing it will help."

They rode the rest of the way home in relative silence, each trying to decide for themselves how to approach this topic with Mike once they arrived. They were surprised to find, however, that the rarely used dune buggy was missing once they arrived.

"You don't think…" Peter began, his eyes bright with worry. "He wouldn't just leave us would he?"

"Not a chance," Davy shook his head, refusing to believe Mike would ever so much as consider such a thing. "Mike doesn't abandon people he cares about."

"He doesn't usually break his word, either," Micky mused, frowning, as he pocketed the keys to the Monkeemobile and began looking around for a note, certain Mike wouldn't have just left without leaving some sort of word for them to tell them where he went. "Something serious had to have come up for him to leave after promising not to."

As if on cue, a tall, black haired woman stepped in from the balcony. "Oh good, you're here. He said to call the police then wait and bring you when you got here, but I had to go back to see if they were still okay. He said not to, but …the police aren't there yet….please," she grabbed Micky's arm and tried to drag him back toward the door. "Hurry. We have to hurry." She told the boys.

"What happened," Davy demanded, though he didn't hesitate to follow her, knowing that Mike wouldn't have left the pad if it wasn't an emergency, which her words so far had already confirmed. "Where's Mike?"

"Who are you?" Micky asked as he took the car keys back out of his pocket and tried to extricate his arm, but still followed her to the Monkeemobile as well with Pete in tow.

"I'm Rosalie Montoya, and Michael went to help Maria." The girl answered breathlessly as she climbed in.

"As in, Rosalie who leaves little disabled kids alone during thunder and lightening storms, Rosalie?" Davy growled.

"No…well, yes, but…" Rosalie looked ready to cry. " I'm so sorry, I understand you hate me, but please, please hurry. Luis found them. He's so angry. He's going to kill them."

"Wait? Who's Luis?" Micky asked, though he started the car and drove quickly to the house only a short way down the beach from their own.

"He's Maria's husband. " Rosalie replied, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Forgive me. I didn't know …I swear I didn't know…"

"You didn't know what?" Peter pressed gently as they pulled in beside the beachhouse and began disembarking.

The girl looked at Peter, her eyes wide with fear, "He was showing their pictures around and he seemed so upset. He said she'd run off with his daughter and he just wanted her back. He seemed so harmless. I thought I was doing the right thing. Even after he started yelling and cursing I thought…I mean, he was hurt she'd stolen his daughter and run away, right? I didn't…How could I have? " She swallowed hard, looking desperately from one boy to the next. "I didn't think he'd really want to hurt anyone. When he started really going after Maria, I went and got your friend Michael, but even then, I swear, I didn't know until he started waving it around…"

"Waving what around," Davy insisted irritably, an icy feeling beginning to gnaw at his stomach. What was it she was trying so hard not to say?

Finally, Rosalie blurted it out tearfully. "I didn't know he had a gun."

The boys exchanged a glance before taking off at a run toward the beachhouse, desperately hoping that they weren't too late. Halfway to the door the air exploded with the sound of a single gunshot accompanied by a woman's scream.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9. And Perhaps I'll Quietly Withdraw Again_

Mike made his way out onto the balcony in ill-fitting grey drawstring sweatpants and a baggy triumph T shirt – Micky still hadn't returned all his clothes - settling carefully into the deck chair to watch the sun sink into the water and ponder his current situation. The guys had just headed out for Antonelli's, ready after a bit of rearranging and a week of practicing, to play their first gig without him. He knew they'd be great. Peter teaching Davy how to play the bass had been a good thing after all. He could take up those duties and Peter could play Mike's part. Mike had helped them settle a couple of arrangements, figuring out how to simplify the bass line and work around the piano parts with the guitar instead without taking too much away from the sound of the song, then let the three do their thing. And they had. They'd sounded great.

They'd sounded great without him.

He sighed softly as the last ray vanished and darkness took hold, broken only by the spattering of stars and a thumbnail moon struggling in vain to illuminate the world as their predecessor had. He blinked tiredly, shaking his head before rising once more and making his way back into their livingroom, looking around it sullenly. He'd convinced Mister Babbitt to give them more time to get the rent together when he'd shown up earlier. Truthfully, it hadn't been as hard as he'd expected it to be. Mr. Babbitt took one look at Mike himself and seemed to backtrack on his demands without too much protest, giving them a full two weeks extra to come up with the rent that was now due. Mike didn't actually see all that much of a difference from what usually stared back at him from the mirror beyond a dark shadowing around his eyes. He'd never considered himself much of a prize to look at either way, but he wasn't quite sure what everyone else was seeing. Still, he found himself somewhat grateful that for once the fact he looked like hell seemed to work in their favor.

Silently, he moved into the kitchen area, mindlessly tending to the few dishes that had been left in the sink. He'd managed to keep a few things down over the last couple of days and wasn't quite as shaky as he had been, so at least the guys were easing up on the mother hen routines and hadn't protested too loudly about leaving him there alone tonight. This left him free to consider what it was he needed to do. Once he'd learned the outcome of tonight's performance, he supposed, it would be easier to let go. All he needed to know was that they'd been successful on their first try out. That would tell him all he needed to know except, of course, how to leave. He knew, though, that he'd have to if it was what was best for his friends. He owed them that, especially after all they'd been through for him. Nobody'd ever put in so much time and worry over him before.

So why was he still here?

Well, aside from having been too sick to do much up till now, there was that darned fool promise he'd made keeping him locked to the pad for the moment, he reminded himself. Doctor Parsons had agreed to giving him a bit more freedom around the pad after his last check in - no more restricting his movements to strictly from his bed to a chair now, at least - allowing him what he called 'light duty', but still wasn't ready to cut him loose and reminded him when he protested that he'd already promised to do it the doc's way. And then there was the fact that he needed to be sure they'd manage alright onstage without him there before he cleared out.

_And why wouldn't they?_ That voice in the back of his head taunted. _It's not as if your somethin' all that all-out special, now, is it? Now, you've officially failed at everything you've ever tried. Don't tell me you can't even do leavin' right._

Oh, how he hated that voice that piped up whenever he was trying to decide things like this, where his own selfish desires put him at odds with what he believed was best for the people he cared for. It always sounded like his uncle for whom he'd been named, though few would ever know it since he himself didn't use his first name and hadn't acknowledged to anyone but Davy since leaving home that the man existed at all. This was the voice of the man who'd always reminded Mike what a useless failure he was and always would be. The same uncle had reminded Mike regularly that if he'd been more of a man and a better help to his mamma, she wouldn't have come unraveled the way she did in the end and the remaining little ones wouldn't have been taken away like they were. He also seemed to always relish the opportunity to remind Mike that, somehow, everything that had gone so tragically wrong had been his fault. He'd loved reminding him that, even then, they'd all seen how worthless he was. That's why, his uncle had always insisted, nobody'd wanted the lanky pre-teen. He'd been just one of a string of family members Mike had been passed to and from before finally leaving Texas and never looking back, except for the odd call to his Aunt Kate, the one bit of family who'd never treated him harshly, never blamed him for those tragic events even after he'd long since come to blame himself, though even she hadn't been able to take him in for more than a single summer.

He smiled softly as his thoughts turned to Aunt Kate. She'd done her best by him in spite of everything, of that there was no question. First, she'd combined her meager savings with what little bits he'd managed to stash of his own to help him buy a car and a new suitcase when he'd turned sixteen, understanding better than anyone why he'd been so near desperate to run. Then she'd helped him get his place. True, he'd initially managed to get Mister Babbitt to rent him the shabby two bedroom house on the beach partly because nobody else had been clamoring to rent the run down old place and partly because of his willingness to do whatever odd job needed doing no matter how small in exchange for the money to pay the rent until a real job could be found. Anything from unclogging toilets to painting decks to sitting for other tenant's poorly behaved children all suddenly became his day jobs while he played for whatever he could get at night and took his GED to finish high school, forging his mother's signature to do so, knowing he couldn't get a real on the clock job until that was done. When suspicious officials flagged his forms, Aunt Kate had come to the rescue, calling and pretending to be his mother so that he could take the test. Then, when Mr. Babbitt had caught him preparing for the test, and realized how old his tall gangly young tenant really was, another call from "mom" had helped secure his independence as well. He'd gotten so used to being lonely in his young lifetime that he'd nearly convinced himself that it was a choice he himself had always made and not one foist upon him, yet he still relished being alone on his own terms for a change, and he'd enjoyed his freedom for a time. He'd eventually taken on roommates to help ease the burden of paying the bills when the odd jobs died down and real work became harder than he imagined it would be to find, but he'd never regretted it, nor had he forgotten how much he owed his aunt for helping him keep it in the first place.

He was going to miss this place. He'd had more of a home and a family here than he'd ever had anywhere else. Giving that up, even when he knew it was the right thing to do, was going to be harder than he'd imagined anything would. He'd moved here figuring he was here solely to find his own success. He'd taken on the guys not because he felt like he really the company at the time, or at least not so he'd have admitted, but because he'd needed the help making the rent at the time. He'd discovered along the way that they sort of needed him, too, and it was nice to be needed again, but it wasn't something he was looking for. He'd even tried to convince himself that it wasn't something he'd wanted. Having people counting on him again meant having people he could fail again, and that thought more than any other terrified him, so he'd tried to convince himself that he could just be roommates without getting close to them. Tried, but failed. The truth was, he'd missed being wanted and needed, so much so, that he'd eventually immersed himself in that feeling, even going so far as to foolishly convince himself that they really needed him to take care of them. But then they'd proven the truth to him. They'd done their best to be there for him when he'd needed them, taking care of him when he couldn't take care of himself, and managed to take care of themselves just fine without him. He'd been a fool, and, without ever meaning to, he'd let his own arrogance, hold them back. He owed it to them to let them succeed, and he understood now that wasn't something likely to happen so long as he remained in the picture. He pondered for a moment whether or not to take his GTO, the one the group had redubbed the "Monkeemobile" after he'd let Micky trick it out, or to leave it behind and just take the dune buggy he'd managed to barter for so they all would have something to tool around the beach in once in awhile. After a moment, he realized they couldn't carry their instruments and keep them safe in a dune buggy, and he couldn't leave them without a way to get themselves and their instruments to and from their gigs. He'd have to leave the Pontiac behind.

He sighed as he moved back into the livingroom. His livingroom. He absently straightened things here and there, carefully avoiding anything that would require strenuous cleaning as he remained mindful of his promise, noting with some surprise that it was nearly time for the guys' gig to end. He turned his attention to where their instruments usually sat, where his twelve strings, both electric and acoustic, rested alone now, the space between them empty now that he'd 'loaned' Peter both his six strings. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be reclaiming them and supposed that, on some level, Peter was too. Carefully he packed the twelve strings and his amp and moved them to just under the spiral staircase where the rest of his things were already packed up and waiting for the doctor's permission to go, with the exception of his clothes which Micky really did need to return. If pressed, though, he'd have to admit he hadn't searched too hard for them. Not when their absence still provided him the excuse to stay just a moment or two longer.

A pounding on the door, accompanied by a panicked-sounding woman's voice, broke him from his melancholy reverie.

"Michael," the unfamiliar voice called. "Please, Michael, they need your help…"

Mike hesitated for only a moment before pulling the door open quickly and catching the young woman who'd been pushing her weight against it and pounding upon it as she stumbled in.

"Hold on, now, slow down there. What's going on?" he demanded as he helped her gain her footing, stooping slightly to be more eye to eye with her, conscious as always of how intimidating his stature could be to some people.

"Louis is at Maria's," the dark haired woman began, her eyes bright with tears. "He found her." Noting how Michael's eyes widened, she nodded, assuming he understood enough.

"Let's go," Michael interrupted, remembering all Maria had told him about her abusive husband, explaining why she'd finally taken their daughter and left him. He fished around in a drawer for the keys to the rarely used dune buggy, tugged on his coat and donned his green wool hat to keep his hair out of his eyes as he drove.

They made swift time up the beach to Maria's house and hurried up to the balcony, spotting the muscular man through the double glass doors. Mike was reaching for the door when they both spotted what the ranting and cursing Latino was waving around in his hand, prompting him to draw back to the shadows, pulling Rosalie with him.

"Go back to my pad and call the police," he whispered as he pressed the keys to the dune buggy into her hand. "Tell them it's an emergency and make them believe it. Then wait there. The guys should be comin' back any time now. Tell them where I went and why, then wait. Do not come back here on your own, do you understand? You don't want to be standin' here if he decides to do somethin' with that thing."

Rosalie looked at the keys in her hand, confused. "What are you going to do?"

Mike drew a steadying breath and shook his head, unable to believe what he was planning himself. "I'm gonna go on in there like a damn fool and try to make sure nothin' happens we'll all regret," he said, shifting back out of the shadows before he lost his nerve.

Rosalie hesitated a moment, seemingly warring with herself over whether or not she should let him do this, or help him, or run like hell, before shaking her head and hurrying back down the way they'd come, climbing into the dune buggy, and driving back toward Michael's house to do as he'd directed.

Inside Maria's beachhouse, the frantic mother cowered in the corner, trying to shield her child with her own body. Her left eye was already swollen shut and her lip was split, but she wasn't backing down. "Por favor, Louis," she sobbed. "Put that away. You're frightening our daughter. Please."

"Shut up," the frantic man bellowed, waving the weapon wildly. "Shut up SHUT UP!"

Mike could see the man's body tensing and feared that he'd fire that weapon whether he meant to or not if someone didn't manage to calm him down. He wished for a fleeting moment that he could think of another way to do this, but, unable to come up with one, he proceeded in the only way he could, counting on the fact that the police were being called and the guys would soon be on their way. For all he'd always been a loner, he didn't relish the idea of being out here on the ledge alone just now. He tried to ignore the ramifications of that particular bit of truth as, opening the door to the balcony silently, he stepped in without a sound and closed the door before drawing the man's attention by saying as calmly as he could manage. "That ain't no way to talk to a lady, now, is it Louis?"

"Who the…" Louis turned toward the towering newcomer and spat, only to be interrupted by Michael.

"Watch it now," Mike warned, his eyes narrowing despite the situation. "There's no call to talk that way in front of them." He stepped to his right, intentionally positioning himself so that Louis would have to turn further away from the girls to track him. "Maybe you'd like to tell me what it is that's got you all riled up?" Mike suggested in a tone far calmer than he actually felt at the moment, thinking that maybe if he could get the man talking he could find a way to calm him down. He coughed into his sleeve, cursing his own weakness silently as he continued to fix the shorter, bulkier man with brown eyes that seemed far too old to suit one so young, keeping his expression deceptively neutral.

"Who are you?" Louis demanded, gesturing toward Mike with the gun in his hand. "What are you doing in my wife's house?"

Mike tried not to cringe as the weapon rounded to point in his direction. Nope, this was definitely not how he'd imagined himself spending his evening. "I'm your daughter's guitar teacher," he offered, supposing that was honest enough for current circumstances. "I live up the beach a little ways. Thought I'd check in on 'em when I heard yellin', seein' as how her mom said her husband was away when I started. I know I'd want someone to check in if it was my own left alone like that. "

"What if they were alone because the _puta_ decided to steal your child and your money and run off, huh mister guitar man? Would you still want someone to check in on her, or would you want to put a bullet in her fu…" Louis was gesticulating wildly with the gun as he ranted, seemingly daring it to go off on its own.

"Language," Mike reminded him, his voice taking on a warning edge, as he took another step to his right to draw the man and his weapon further from the mother and her child. Again, Louis tracked him. "Whatever issue you two got, that little one don't need to be a party to it."

"SHE'S NOT YOURS," Louis shouted, waving the gun at Mike again. "You don't get to decide what she needs, you got that mister guitar man? I decide, not you. They belong to me. Both of them. I DECIDE."

Mike swallowed hard, trying to figure out a way to keep the man in front of him from coming completely unraveled and coming up empty. The scene became more and more reminiscent of one more than a decade before, and his hands began to shake.

_What are you doing?_ He asked himself silently. _You failed at this last time. What made you think you could do it now? _

He glanced from Maria to the front door, hoping she'd take the hint and get Lucy out of there before things got any uglier. He'd meant what he'd said. There was just no way that little girl needed to be a party to any of this. Especially not if it ended up going the way it seemed to be heading.

Maria took hold of her daughter's wheelchair and began moving as quickly and quietly as she could toward the front door. She got managed to make it to the exit and grasped the handle only to be undone when the hinges squeaked loudly.

Louis swung the gun toward the sound, coming to rest with it pointing at Lucy's head as Maria tried to pull her through the doorway. Mike's long stride carried him quickly between Louis and Lucy, completely undone at the sight of the weapon once again aimed so coldly at the child he'd come to care so deeply for by her own parent as echoes of another child's long ago cries rang in his ears. He grasped Louis' wrist with his right hand, preventing him from aiming the metal monstrosity at the child or her mother, while his left hand balled into a fist seemingly of its own volition, drawing all the strength and weight the man possessed behind it in its fury. This wasn't happening again. This time, he'd find the courage to stop it.

All at once, in what seemed to be almost painfully slow motion, Mike's fist connected with Louis' jaw, the gun went off, and Maria screamed.

When normal time resumed once more, one man lay still upon the floor. The other stood over him, looking down in shocked silence. The only remaining sounds were those of the gun clattering to the ground before coming to rest between them and the woman and child sobbing.

Maria and her daughter were drawn the rest of the way out of the room, tears streaming down their cheeks, as frightened figures ran toward her. Two paused there with her and her child as one continued past.

"Are you alright? " Davy asked, kneeling in front of Lucy, his brow furrowed with worry. The child nodded, still too frightened to speak.

"Shh," Peter soothed to Maria, his voice gentle and sweet in tone and timbre, as the sensitive blonde drew her close, offering reassurances. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."

But Maria knew better. She'd known from the moment when she'd first run with her daughter that nothing would ever be okay again.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10. To Catch Me If I Fall_

Sirens could be heard in the distance as Micky hurried into the house, leaving Rosalie with the others to see to Maria and the Lucy.

"Mike…Mike are you okay?" The drummer asked as he approached the tall, skinny figure, who seemed to stare as if transfixed upon the fallen man before him. "Did you shoot him?"

Slowly, Mike shook his head. No. He hadn't shot anyone. He felt Micky's hand upon his shoulder as the younger man looked from the gun at their feet to the still figure before them as well.

"Mike…come on…talk to me." Micky said, giving his friend's shoulder another little shake as he moved toward Louis. "Say something so I know you're still in there, huh?"

"I didn't shoot him," Mike answered quietly at last. "Just hit him is all. He was … I was afraid he might shoot Lucy."

"Okay, well, Lucy's fine," Micky reassured him as he knelt to check out the unconscious man. "But you might want to pull yourself together, man. I'm pretty sure the police'll wanna hear all about Louis and his little toy there." He looked up at his friend at last, and his eyes went wide. "Oh God…Mike…" he whispered, moving swiftly toward the taller young man even as Mike went to his knees. Micky caught him around the shoulders, slowing his descent and easing him gently to the floor.

" 'm sorry… broke my promise," Mike whispered. "…just didn't have…I couldn't..."

"It's okay, Mike. We understand," Micky assured him as he pried Mike's hand away from his abdomen, inspecting the damage even as the blood continued oozing from the wound. "Just hang on, okay. Hang on." Mike nodded tiredly, closing his eyes. "No, Mike..." Micky begged. "Don't do that. Not yet. Stay awake for now, okay, please?" Beginning to panic he yelled then, "PETER, DAVY!"

Noting the tone of absolute fear, the boys left Maria and Lucy in Rosalie's care and hurried in, gasping at the sight before them. Davy looked around and found a hand towel he could use to help stop the bleeding as Peter knelt beside Michael, taking his hand.

"Oh man … no…." Peter choked around his tears. "Michael?"

"Don't…" Mike tried to reassure Peter, though his voice sounded strange even to himself. Swallowing hard, he tried again, "don't cry, Pete…please…"

Davy knelt next to Micky and pressed the folded hand towel to the wound firmly, eliciting a pained outcry from Mike. "Oh God, Mike, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," the dark eyed brit sobbed. "We have to stop the bleeding. Just…"

Before he could say another word they were being swept aside by paramedics, who promptly set to taking Mike's vitals, assessing his injury, and starting an IV.

Policemen entered next, looking around the room for evidence of everything that had led up to the tableau before them.

"Can you tell me what happened here, son?" one policeman asked Micky.

"That guy over there came in here with a gun…" Micky began, gesturing to where Louis had been laying moments before.

That's when they realized that the door to the balcony was open and Louis was gone. He must have somehow snuck out while the Monkees surrounded their friend.

The officer frowned, looking from the space the young man pointed to back toward the gun that had been left behind. "Don't worry. We'll do everything we can to find him. Maybe we'll get some usable prints off the weapon." He nodded toward one of the other officers, who bagged it wordlessly. Paramedics placed Michael on a gurney, holding an IV bag high above the injured young man, and wheeled him out to a waiting ambulance as the officer placed a hand on Micky's shoulder, trying to keep his focus there with him. "Want to tell me what went on here and how your friend fits into this?"

Micky told him what little he'd been able to piece together, that Maria had run with her child away from an apparently abusive husband who'd tracked her down with a gun. Her friend had gone and got Mike, who had come to try to help get them away from him safely, getting shot in the process when he tried to prevent Louis from shooting the little girl.

"Regular good Samaritan, then?" The policeman sounded skeptical. Nobody put themselves in that sort of a position unless there was more than friendship going on. Had the woman's husband simply come home to find her with another man and lost it? That seemed a simpler explanation, and his experience had always been that the simpler explanation was usually the right one.

"Yeah, he is." Micky shot back, glaring.

The policeman stood there looking at him a moment, trying to find a crack in his armor, a hint of doubt he could capitalize on. Finding none, he shrugged at last. "Alright. So any idea how the husband found his wife and child?"

"Can I answer the rest of your questions at the hospital, please," Micky blurted at last, noting that the doors to the ambulance were being closed between him and his friend as they spoke. "I need to go with Mike. We all do."

The policeman scowled at the interruption before the look in the young man's eyes registered. Then he nodded sympathetically. He'd had buddies rushed off in similar shape before and knew how nerve wracking it could be. "We'll need an address and phone number where you can be reached, but it's likely we'll track you down at the hospital once we're done here." he said. He jotted down the youth's reply on his notepad then let him go on his way.

Davy'd convinced the ambulance driver that he was Mike's little brother, obtaining a ride with him to the hospital in that fashion. The rest of them, plus Maria, Lucy and Rosalie, all piled into the Monkeemobile and followed in the ambulance's wake. Once they arrived at their destination, they were shown to a waiting room to pace and fret once Mike was whisked from ambulance to surgery.

"He's going to be okay," Micky kept repeating to himself as the time crept by, "He has to be okay." It was as if by saying it over and over it would become irrefutable law.

"Of course he will," Maria whispered, looking forlorn. This was her own fault. She never should have let the Texan get involved with her and her problems.

Davy paced frantically, his eyes never leaving the double doors behind which their friend's fate was still being decided. He couldn't bear to think of what all could go wrong. Mike had been his first friend and ally when he got here. He needed to believe that Micky was right and that Mike would be okay but there'd been so much blood. Could a person survive losing that much blood?

Rosalie had found herself at a loss, surrounded by others who knew the injured young man. Her only interaction with him had been what she'd seen of him tonight. She was ashamed to admit she was jealous of the others. Even if they lost him tonight, at least they can say they knew him. She'd never met anyone who would willingly risk themselves for her the way he had for Maria and her child. She supposed she wasn't the sort of person guys did that for, but she wanted to be. She was afraid what would happen when they all really understood how much of this was her fault. She'd told them, and none of them had turned on her for it or even asked her, as she would have in their place, why she was still there. They'd simply accepted her apology and allowed her to remain while they waited. How long would that acceptance last, though, if their friend didn't pull through?

Peter just sat silently in a chair next to Lucy's wheelchair, looking stricken.

"Don't worry, Peter," the child said at last. "He'll be okay. He has to be. He promised to teach me to play his guitar with all the strings on it. He promised."

Peter just nodded slowly, knowing that Mike wasn't one to break promises. He tried hard to ignore the fact that Mike had been shot because he'd done just that by leaving the pad while they were gone. He knew what was at risk and understood why Mike believed he had no choice, but he couldn't quite shake the anger at that moment. He was angry at himself and his bandmates for leaving Mike home sick and alone again to face that choice in the first place. He was angry with Mike for leaving the pad despite his promise, even knowing why he did it. He was angry with Maria for sending Rosalie to get Mike even knowing he was sick and needed to be at home resting. If he was too sick to be onstage with them he was too sick to be talking down crazy husbands with guns. He knew he was being unfair, but he couldn't help it. Nothing about this was fair. Nobody should be sitting here worrying about Mike. He felt terribly guilty for feeling this way, especially when nobody knew whether Mike was going to make it or not, but he couldn't help it. Mike shouldn't be here.

Several hours later, the doctor came out to the waiting area. He looked haggard and his scrubs were covered in blood.

Mike's blood.

Peter dropped his head into his hands, drawing slow deep breaths in an effort not to be sick or faint or both.

"Family for Robert Nesmith?" the doctor asked.

"Mike," Davy corrected. At the doctor's surprised expression, he explained, "He doesn't use his first name. Ever."

"The only people who ever call him Robert are people who don't really know him," Micky agreed. "The ones who really love him call him Mike."

"I see. Mike, then. I take it you're his family?" the doctor asked.

"That's right. We're his brothers." Davy answered, daring anyone to argue.

The doctor looked from one to the other, then shrugged. "Alright then. Your…brother…is resting comfortably. We were lucky in that the bullet didn't hit anything vital and there was minimal fragmentation. He lost a lot of blood, but we were able to repair the damage and, barring any unforeseen complications, he should make a full recovery."

"Can we see him?" Davy asked hopefully.

"Once we've got him settled into recovery I'll send someone for you." The doctor answered. "He can't have more than two people in with him at a time, though, so you'll …"

"Where is he?" A loud booming voice with a thick Texas drawl demanded. A tall, lean man who might have born a strong resemblance to Mike but for the expression he wore, reminiscent of one who'd just taken a huge swallow of something sour smelling and exceptionally foul in flavor, stormed the nurses desk, leaning across menacingly. "Leave it to that damned boy to get Katie all riled up, so's she gets on the horn to our people, next thing you know someone's gettin' me drug up outta bed and drivin' six hours to come collect his sorry a…"

"Nobody here called you and nobody here wants you, so why don't you start that six hour drive back now," Davy spat, recognizing the man even though he knew the others wouldn't, though they might notice the resemblance. He'd only met him once, when he'd gone on a road trip with Mike to visit his grandmother just before she passed, before the other two moved in and the band was formed. That was, to the young Brit's mind, one time too many.

"Are you still here?" the man looked down his nose at the little Englishman. "I'd'a thought you'd'a hitched yourself to someone actually goin' somewhere by now, 'stead'a hangin' onto the dead last horse. "

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm going to have to ask you to keep it down," the doctor sighed, looking the newcomer up and down. He didn't care if this one was obviously related by blood, there wasn't any way he was letting him near his patient.

"Tell you what, slick," the man wheeled on the doctor, stepping back slightly at the sight of all the blood before gathering himself again and continuing. "You just bundle that no-account up and shove him in the truck 'fore he bleeds out or runs up more bills nobody can pay and we'll get on and give you all the quiet you can stand. How's that? "

"No way," Davy blurted out. "You're the last person he'd go anywhere with on a good day, and this is not a good day."

"You need to back on up and remember your place, Nancy-boy," The man stepped forward, trying to intimidate the youth with his size in a way that his even taller nephew never would have. Where Mike tended to stoop slightly to avoid that effect, this man seemed to revel in it.

"He knows his place," Micky stepped forward drawing Davy behind him as he knew Mike would have, preventing the fiery young man from getting in over his head. Drawing himself to his full height, he narrowed his eyes, staring the man down and making it clear he wasn't impressed with him at all. "His place is here, right next to the rest of us, including Mike. The only one who doesn't have a place here is you. "

Peter stood, drying his eyes, that uncharacteristic anger he'd been feeling building in him as he listened to the man whose only purpose seemed to be to kick Mike when he was down. "You should leave now." He told the taller Texan softly.

"And whose gonna make me, Nancy-boy?" the Texan blurted. "I come to take that worthless piece of shi…"He'd barely started to form the word when Peter did something the pacifist never did, ending with the blonde yelping and shaking out his hand and the tall obnoxious man sprawled on the floor.

The doctor waved a couple of security officers over and had them escort the still sputtering Texan out of the hospital, then took Peter's hand gently in his own, inspecting the damage. "For future reference, you tuck the thumb outside, not inside the fingers, if you're going to do that." The doctor smiled, shaking his head.

Blushing, the blonde bassist lowered his head before chiming in quietly, "I don't plan to make a habit out of that."

The doctor laughed. "Glad to hear it. It doesn't seem to be broken, but you probably should get some ice on it while we finish getting your brother settled in." It didn't matter that he knew they weren't blood related at this point. There was more to being family than just bloodlines, as the altercation he'd witnessed proved to him. Parentage aside, there was no doubt about it. These boys were family.

"Doctor Hannigan?" the nurse at the desk called him over quietly. She gestured to her patient's chart once he was close enough to see it before continuing. "Mr. Nesmith doesn't have any brothers, sir. You do know that, right?"

"I know what the chart says, Ms. Bentley," the doctor nodded. "That doesn't change what those boys are to each other at all."

The nurse smiled and muttered a quiet, 'yes sir,' before turning her attention to other things on her desk.

"Oh, and Sheryl?" the nurse looked up again as the doctor addressed her. "Notify security immediately if that other gentleman returns. I don't want him near our patient, is that clear?"

The nurse's smile grew wider as she nodded and replied once again, "yes, sir." That was one direction she'd be very happy to follow.


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter 11. My Whole World is Upside Down_

The stillness of the room, broken only by the sounds of the monitors, was unnerving to both Davy and Micky.

Davy looked down at his friend, lying pale and still in the bed and shook his head. "You're getting far too good at this scaring the crap out of us thing," he told his still-sleeping friend, needing to break the silence.

"Agreed," Micky sighed. "For someone who doesn't like getting fussed over, you're not doing a very good job at avoiding it." He reached out absently and brushed the hair out of Mike's eyes, willing him to open his them. Though the doctor assured them that Mike should be fine, they still couldn't help but worry.

"mmm…'ll work on that," Mike mumbled, surprising both of his friends, then sighing before forcing his eyes open to peer at his roommates and commenting with a smirk, "y'guys look like hell."

"It's your own fault! You're making us OLD, Mike," Micky nudged his shoulder gently. He narrowed his eyes before continuing, "Which doesn' t mean we want you to leave, so fair warning I noticed the stuff you put under the stairs when we got back from our gig and I am unpacking your shit. Don't even think of trying to leave us again, got it?"

Mike looked stunned, but Davy picked up on that thought before he could say anything in his own defense.

"We're not whole without you, Mike. We all know it. Why don't you?" Davy demanded. He hadn't noticed the boxes Micky mentioned and the knowledge that Mike had actually planned to leave them hit him hard.

Mike closed his eyes, a tear trickling down into his hair. He'd never imagined anyone would care whether he was there or not. Nobody ever had before. Especially when he stopped being particularly useful."What's wrong?" Davy asked, instantly panicked. "Are you in pain? Should I call the nurse?"

Mike shook his head, reaching up a hand and wiping the tear quickly. He didn't know what was wrong with him right that second. He didn't cry. The others wore their heart on their sleeves, not him. "No," he tried, his voice thick with emotion. Quickly he cleared his throat and tried again. "No, 'm fine. Just…a little overwhelmed, I guess."

"Think Pete is too," Davy told Mike, looking at the door. "He seems sort of … not himself right now. I mean, he punched your uncle dead in the face."

"Wait. What?" Mike asked, trying to sit up and immediately regretting it. He bit back a cry of pain, flopping back upon the pillow, gritting his teeth against it.

"Yeah, don't do that." Davy said putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're not going to want to move around too much right now. You could tear your stitches, but even if you don't, it won't feel good."

"Thanks for warning me," Mike hissed breathlessly through clenched teeth, his eyes closed tightly and his hands pressed protectively against his bandaged wound.

Micky pressed the button for the nurse, not bothering to ask Mike this time. The woman arrived quickly enough, took one look at the monitors and the patient then ducked back out, returning swiftly with a syringe, which she added to Mike's IV.

"Easy, hun," she told him softly, placing a hand upon his arm. "You should be feeling better in just a minute ."

Mike nodded and the nurse left after exchanging smiles with a relieved looking Davy.

"Who called my uncle," Mike asked after a moment, opening his eyes again.

Micky looked to Davy to answer that one.

"I called your Aunt Kate," Davy admitted. "I was worried we'd lose you, and thought your family should be notified what had happened. I knew you kept in touch with her, so I didn't think you'd mind."

"Well, I'd rather you'd waited and just called her later, but I understand why you didn't." Mike admitted reluctantly, looking at the ceiling. "Maybe next time let it all play out first. Or maybe let me call her. When she gets scared, she calls Aunt Flo, who always called Aunt Edna, and before long she calls Aunt Ethel, who calls and wakes up my uncle and sends him my way whether I want him or not. Which, for the record, I don't."

"You're planning on a next time?" Micky blurted out.

"We're not letting him anywhere near you," Davy promised quietly, ignoring Micky's outburst for the moment. "I'm sorry."

Mike waved off the apology. It wasn't Davy's fault his family was so backwards and difficult. Besides, it wasn't as if they didn't have their reasons.

Micky shook his head. "What has he got against you?"

Mike blinked slowly, frowning, uncertain how much of that he wanted to get into. "Let's just say I failed at something important a long time ago and he never forgave me for it. Nobody did."

Catching the look in his eyes, Davy asked, "Not even you?"

Mike just shrugged. How do you forgive yourself for something like that? It had cost him three people's lives and the right to watch three others grow up or call them family. It wasn't any wonder nobody had wanted him after that. If he could have climbed out of his own skin he wouldn't have stuck with himself either.

Micky looked over at Davy, confused, only to see him mirror Mike's shrug. He didn't know either. "Wanna talk about it?" he asked at last, figuring maybe he and Davy could help Mike through it if they could just figure out what it was.

Mike opened his mouth to refuse when Davy interrupted. "We're family, Mike. Family shares, right? So…share…"

Mike clenched his teeth tighter, shaking his head. "You guys don't know what you're askin' here." He told them.

"Whatever it is, it's been eating at you long enough, don't you think?" Micky asked. "Just talk to us. Please."

Mike closed his eyes again, trying to decide how to answer them. After several long moments, and with both Davy and Micky concluding he wasn't going to answer them after all, he began in a halting voice. "My dad left us when I was 4. He came back a few times, and every time my mom took him back. He'd come back swearin' he loved her and meant to stay this time. She'd get pregnant. He'd leave again." He stopped a moment, swallowing as his voice grew thick with emotion. "She did her best, my ma, but there wasn't much call for uneducated, unskilled women in the workforce back then. She tried to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads, nevermind things like keepin' the power on, but…" he didn't bother trying to wipe away the tears now, "even with me helping where I could, there wasn't enough. I'd bring back whatever I could beg, borrow or steal and it still wasn't ever enough. We were always hungry. Always cold. Someone was always sick and needin' somethin' we couldn't afford to get for them. Outgrowing clothes and shoes and nothin' there to replace them with. And my mom, it started to wear on her, you know? She started thinkin' it wasn't right we should always be that way. We weren't supposed to live like that." A strangled sob escaped him, causing an alarmed Micky and Davy to each place a hand upon his shoulders.

"It's okay, Mike," Davy told him. "You don't have to…"

"No," Mike shook his head, clearing his throat again. "No, I do." The tears were flowing freely now, the damn behind which he'd kept all the pain away from his everyday life broken at last beyond repair, as he forced himself to continue. "She came home a few days before Christmas. She'd been fired…again…and she was so…so lost." There was no point in trying to hide the emotion in his voice anymore. "She started talking crazy, sayin' things like God didn't want us to live this way anymore and …and he wanted us to come on home."

Peter, who'd been waiting for one of his roommates to come out so he could check in on his friend, now stood silently in the doorway, his own eyes bright with tears as he listened Mike telling the others about a moment in his life most people couldn't imagine in their worst nightmares.

"I tried to tell her..." Mike pressed on, the pain clearly evident. "I tried to tell her we were all right there. We were home." Micky and Davy were both crying openly now as they listened to their friend's torment. "She just shook her head and said that God wanted us to come home to him. Then she…she pulled…" he cleared his throat, struggling to regain control, fighting for some sort of dispassion as he told the rest. "She pulled out a gun. She'd taken her last wages and bought it. She just … she started shooting. And I tried…I swear I tried to get them out of there, but I wasn't…I couldn't get them all out. She…Ethan and Mary…they were…I couldn't get to them. I was…afraid," he spat the word as if it were something foul.

"Oh, Mike…" Micky whispered.

"I was almost twelve by then." Mike told them, shaking his head as if warding off their compassion. "One more week. I was already taller…stronger than she was. I could have done more, and I know that." He settled resignedly, whispering. "I know that. But I waited too long. I tried to get her to see what she was doin' and to take the gun. She stood there like she was stone for a second then it was like she'd …woke up, I guess you'd call it…realized what she'd done and … she turned it…pointed it at herself. I tried to get it from her but it went off and…"

"You were an eleven year old kid, Mike. No matter how tall you were, you were still a kid. You weren't supposed to have to protect each other from her. Or to protect her from herself, either. She was supposed to protect you." Peter said from the doorway before entering, deciding that now wasn't the time for obeying rules. Not when Mike needed them all. He seated himself on the arm of Micky's chair and took Mike's hand.

"What happened to the others?" Davy asked, knowing that Mike's chart listed him as an only child, having overheard the nurse and doctor's quiet conversation.

"The social service people came and gathered us all up. Little Jen was adopted first, then Ely." Mike answered softly. "Babies and toddlers are almost always taken first. Then Christian. He was smart and cute and of course somebody would want him once they met him."

Micky frowned. "What about you?" he asked, though he'd suspected he knew the answer.

"I was just as skinny and ugly then as now, and I wasn't much for meeting people right then either. There wasn't anybody waitin' to grab 'hold of a kid like me, so I got passed on to Gran first, " Mike answered, striving for some level of detachment. "then to Aunt Florence, then Aunt Kate, then Aunt Edna…you get the idea. It was hard for them, though. I mean…I wasn't…I was a difficult kid comin' to 'em with a chip on my shoulder and blood on my hands and all…"

"Bullshit," Davy exploded. "You didn't have blood on your hands, she did, and if you hadn't done what you did she probably would have had more of it."

"My kin didn't see it that way, 'cept maybe Aunt Kate. She sat and talked to me about it when I first got there. Tried to talk to the others, too, and they seemed to ease up some, 'cept for my Uncle Robert. To his way of thinkin' I was supposed to be the man of the house, and thing went down the way they did because I'd failed. What happened, or didn't happen, right or wrong, it boiled down to bein' my responsibility. He made sure that, so long as I was living hand to mouth off their charity, I remembered it, too. " Mike closed his eyes, physically and emotionally exhausted. "I s'pose he was right enough. Mom counted on me to pitch in and help. If I'd done more, maybe it wouldn't have gone the way it did."

"He was wrong, Mike, and so are you." Micky said gently. "Your dad was supposed to be the man of the house. He abandoned you all. That's his failure, not yours. Barring that, your uncle could have helped out more. All of your family could have. They didn't. That was their failure, not yours. You were just a kid. Nobody had a right to expect you to do anything more than you did. Even that was more than most grown men could have done."

Davy opened his mouth to agree, then realized it wouldn't make a difference what he said at that moment as Mike's features smoothed out and his breathing became slow and even, the medication the nurse had given him, coupled with exhaustion, winning out over the emotional turmoil.

"You guys go ahead and get something to eat," Peter whispered. "I'll stay with him now."

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Davy asked, remembering how distraught Peter had seemed earlier. Peter just nodded. He was sure. "Okay, then. We're going to go back to the pad and get showered and changed. Maybe grab something to eat. Then we'll be back."

"Should we see if the girls want a ride home?" Micky asked, thinking that Lucy in particular might need a break from all of this. The poor kid had been through an awful lot.

Peter shook his head. "The police are in the waiting room talking to them right now, and I know they still want to see Mike when they're done. Go ahead. I'm sure we'll all be fine until you get back."

Peter watched them leave, then sat back, sighing as he watched Mike sleep. He had a lot more healing to do than any of them had ever suspected, but at least now they understood the nature of the wounds they were dealing with. It would take a lot of time and patience, but he was sure that, working together, they could help him come to terms with it all at last.


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter 12. She Went Away_

Two hours later Maria and Lucia entered the room as Peter stepped out, knowing they'd want some privacy. He remained just outside the door, talking to Rosalie and keeping watch for the nurse, since Lucy technically wasn't allowed in the patients rooms because of her age.

"Pobrecito," Lucia whispered, reaching out to take Michael's hand. She smiled when he squeezed her hand gently, though he didn't open his eyes. "I knew you'd be okay. I told Peter so."

"Did ya now?" Mike smiled softly. "Glad I didn't disappoint you."

"I was scared, though," Lucy whispered, looking earnestly at Michael. "Daddy's mean and he hurts everybody and sometimes he even makes them go away. I don't want you to go away, Michael. You won't, will you?"

Mike thought about his answer carefully, worried he might say the wrong thing. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked into hers, replying, "I won't lie to you, Lucy. Everyone goes away eventually. But I promise I'll do my best to be here as long as I can. Good enough?"

Lucy looked as though she was seriously weighing his words before replying. "Si. Good enough." She smiled brightly.

"There's my Sunny Girl. You sure do know how to brighten a room." He told her, causing her to giggle.

Maria smiled at the byplay, then sighed, "I don't know how to thank you for everything. There's no way I can ever repay you for what you've done for us. I wanted to tell you that, and to tell you how sorry I am that you've been put through all of this. You never should have been dragged into…"

"Stop," Michael frowned. He wasn't having any of this talk, especially not in front of Lucy. Right now, he figured, that little girl needed to hear positive talk, not sadness and apologies. She'd had enough of sadness, he was sure. If it didn't make her smile, it didn't need to be said. Not in front of her.

"No, Michael, please, I need to tell you how…" Maria tried again.

"I am not sorry, Maria. Not for anything." Mike interrupted again, giving Lucy's hand another gentle squeeze. "You shouldn't be either. None of us did anything wrong. "

Maria looked surprised. "But…you got shot…"

Mike rolled his eyes and exchanged a look with Lucy that caused her to laugh before drawling sarcastically. "Noticed that, did ya?" Her scowl made him laugh, which started him coughing, causing some pulling of stitches, which prompted a soft but sincere, "ow…dammit" followed quickly by, "Sorry, Lucy. Didn't mean to say that."

"It's okay, Michael. I barely heard it." Lucy grinned.

"Michael, please, let me apologize. It's my fault you were hurt, and…" Maria tried again, her eyes pleading.

"How do you figure that? Did you pull the trigger?" Mike demanded, growing a little impatient, even though he knew he shouldn't. "You were tryin' to protect Lucy, same as me. Unless you want to blame me for standing in front of him in the first place, the only person to blame for this isn't here to point fingers at, so we might as well let that part go for now." His tone gentled as he added, "How 'bout a smile, now. We're all here. Nobody's gonna leave anytime soon…"

Mike noticed Maria flinch at that and frowned. He raised a questioning brow and his frown deepened as she looked away in response.

"You know what, Lucy," Mike said, realizing there was something Maria needed to say that she wasn't ready yet for Lucy to hear since she wasn't saying it aloud in front of her. "I'm kinda worried about Pete, you know? Everyone keeps sayin' he took this all kinda hard and you were helping him with it. So, any chance you could check on him for me? Maybe give him one of those patented Sunny Girl smiles? I'm thinkin' he could use a dose of sunshine right now. How 'bout it?"

Lucy nodded, missing the byplay between her mother and Mike, and wheeled herself toward the door, remembering Peter was just on the outside. As soon as he knew she was out of earshot, Mike asked quietly, "How soon are you leavin'?"

"We're supposed to be moved tomorrow. The police are going to help hide us this time, though. And Rosalie's coming with us. It'll be good for her to get away from all of this, too." Maria almost whispered, her eyes on the floor. "I wish we could stay, I really do, but…"

"I understand." Michael sighed. "He found you here. You can't risk him finding you again."

Maria nodded. "I'm supposed to testify against him – tell them about everyone I know he's hurt. I gave them the names and told them everything I could about him. They said that if I do that they'll be able to put him in jail for a long time."

Both were quiet for a long time, neither of them knowing what to say next. Maria finally stepped to Michael's side and stroked his cheek gently, "I wish I'd met you first." She admitted sadly.

Mike placed his hand gently over hers. "No ya don't," he answered softly. "You'd have missed out on somethin' precious. Without him there'd be no Lucy. No way you'd have wanted to miss out on her. Not for anything."

Maria smiled though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She traced his lips gently with her thumb, her eyes locked with his own, before leaning close and placing a lingering kiss upon his lips. Drawing away she turned and walked to the door. Pausing there, she whispering, "Goodbye, Michael," then left without looking back.

Mike watched her go, then turned his gaze toward the window, blinking back tears of his own. After several long moments, he whispered back sadly, "Goodbye, Sunshine."


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13. To Erase All the Gloom_

The police had taken Maria, Lucy, and Rosalie all home, presumably to pack the things they wanted to take with them, leaving Peter alone to look after their friend. He waited outside Mike's room until Davy and Micky returned, wanting to let them know about Maria and Lucy's visit and thinking Mike might want a little time to collect himself before they all went in again.

"Sorry we took so long, Pete. Had to unpack Mike's crap before he got home, just so he didn't think we were actually gonna let him go anywhere. How's he been?" Micky frowned.

Peter examined his nails as he answered. "Maria and Lucy went in to see Mike before they left. They sent Lucy out to wait with Rosalie and me, so I guess Maria probably told him they were leaving for good then."

"I thought she was gonna try to wait until we got back." Micky protested.

"And why would she keep Rosalie with her?" Davy mused aloud. "I mean…she left Lucy all alone during a storm and…"

"It was better that she did," Peter interrupted. "Her pi…um… boss. Her boss," he corrected quickly, realizing he'd almost outed her for her profession," …went to her roommate looking for her. He left a message that if she wasn't where she was supposed to be working in fifteen minutes he was going to come back and make her roommate tell him where she was. She didn't want to risk him turning up at Maria's, so she left." He shook his head. "She thought Maria would be back sooner and she didn't want to risk him coming there and hurting anyone. She didn't mean any harm. She did what she thought was the right thing."

Micky frowned. "Sounds like it probably was." He conceded, having caught on quickly to Peter's slip of the tongue.

"Anyway, when Maria told the police that Rosalie had to come with her and Maria because she was in as much danger as they were, they agreed. They even talked about posting a guard on Mike in case her husband came here." Peter concluded. Wide eyed, he asked, "You don't think he will, do you?"

"I doubt it," Micky assured him. "I mean, that would be a really stupid thing to do, don't you think? This place is really public and he's got to know they're looking for him. Mike's probably in the safest place he could be right now."

"How did he seem after she left?" Davy asked with a frown, his gaze turning toward their friend's room.

Peter looked sadly between the two. "I looked in from the doorway and he was just sort of staring toward the window. I thought maybe I should give him a little time, you know?"

"Wow," Davy sighed. "Déjà vu. Faced with someone with a gun and people he wanted to protect and then loses them all afterward again. This is not how this was supposed to play out. We better get in there."

"No kidding. Let's go," Micky agreed, taking long strides toward Mike's door with the other two in tow.

"I'm sorry," the new nurse on duty said to them as she saw them approach. "Patients are only allowed two visitors at a time."

"Oh, we know," Micky answered, linking arms with the other two and continuing past her desk.

The nurse jumped up and placed herself in their way. "That means that one of you will need to remain in the waiting room." She insisted.

"Oh no, you see, we're not visitors," Davy disagreed, he cleared his throat, scrambling for an answer that would let them all go in, before settling on. "We're…um…consulting. That's right. Consulting on this young man's case, isn't that right doctors?" He looked toward the other two, hoping they'd play along.

"That's right, Doctor," Micky caught on quickly, nudging Peter, knowing that when it was something genuinely important to them Pete could be surprisingly astute, but too often when they needed him to catch on to some minor fabrication they were trying to get away with, he remained painfully clueless. " isn't it, doctor?"

"Doctor? But Micky, I'm…" All at once it dawned on Peter what the other two were trying to pull. "Doctor Tork. That's right, that's me. I'm Doctor Tork, and this is Doctor Dolenz, and this is Doctor Jones, and we're all doctors. All of us. And… and we're going to be consulting on the case of Mr. Nesmith. Right now. That's right. So…just…let us pass…please…"

Micky and Davy both rolled their eyes. So much for that idea.

"You're doctors?" The nurse repeated skeptically.

" They've all been very important in caring for the injured young man so far," a familiar voice answered from behind them. Doctor Parsons stood there smiling as the nurse threw up her hands and returned to her station, sensing she was being conned and there was nothing she could do about it. "So, _doctors_, shall we go look in on our patient, then?"

All three had the good grace to blush, knowing they'd been caught, but followed the doctor to their friend's room.

"Thanks for helping us out back there," Davy smiled up at the elderly gentleman. "We just figured Mike really needed all of us right now."

"And you're probably right," Doc Parsons agreed. "The nurse going off duty reported he seemed a little despondent."

Peter's expression clouded. "Maria and Lucy are being moved away tomorrow so Louis can't find them again." He told the doctor. "They came by earlier to say goodbye."

"I see," the doctor nodded. "Well, given the circumstances of the shooting, I can see where that'd be disheartening."

"It wasn't his fault," Peter blurted in his friend's defense. "He didn't set out to break his promise, but he couldn't just leave them in trouble like that. I mean, Rosalie came and got him and told him what was wrong, he couldn't just not go…"

"Of course he couldn't, " Doctor Parsons answered quietly, patting the young man gently on the arm. "I wouldn't have expected anyone to." Reaching the room, he peered in a moment, then frowned. His patient did indeed appear disheartened. "Perhaps you boys would allow me to go in first?" he asked the younger three. All three nodded and he left them in the hall, moving toward the still figure on the bed.

Mike lay there, still staring out the window into the impenetrable darkness, his mind a million miles away. He barely heard the doctor approach and saw little reason to tear himself away from his ponderings.

"Sounds like you've had a rough couple of days, son," Doctor Parsons offered gently as he turned on the light and stepped into Mike's field of vision. "Mind if I have a look at the damage?"

Mike's shrug was barely noticeable. Doc Parsons moved the blanket back and carefully removed the bandage, inspecting the wound carefully. "Looks like Jimmy did a nice job on these stitches. You should barely notice the scar once it heals. We'll give it a few days, make sure there's no infection and everything's healing up as it should before we start talking about homecomings, but I'm guessing you'll live. How does it feel?"

Again, Mike shrugged. How was it supposed to feel?

"Now that's not much of an answer, son. I was given to believe your vocal cords came through this ordeal unscathed. Care to prove it?" Parsons pressed.

"It's fine, okay?" Mike scowled. "It's fine, I'm fine, everything's fine. Anything else?"

"Anger. Good. Beats apathy any day. I'll take it." Parsons nodded. "Now, how 'bout we try this again?" He sat down in a chair next to Mike's bed. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm just great, Doc." Mike sighed in resignation. "I just scared the hell out of my roommates…my brothers…again, for the second time in a less than a month, and said goodbye to the one thing I thought I might be doin' right in a long time. Top that with the fact that my second-least-favorite family member's in town to take me back to a place that wasn't ever home, one I swore I'd never go back to, and I'm not sure I shouldn't let him. I'm just …yeah. Great."

Outside the room, the three boys waited making no effort to hide the fact that they were eavesdropping. Davy looked first shocked then hurt that Mike would still be considering leaving them. He'd been certain he and Micky had already put that idea to rest. Peter and Micky only just managed to prevent him from charging in to confront him.

"Just wait," Micky said quietly. "We'll talk to him together when the doctor is done."

Reluctantly, Davy ceased his charge, waiting for the doctor to get finished so they could sit down together with Mike and have a talk that seemed to be long overdue.

"Second, huh?" The doctor's brows show up beneath his white hair. "From what Jimmy told me about him, I'd have sworn he'd take first place. Who tops him?"

Mike gave a short, mirthless laugh and answered, "That honor goes to my dear old dad."

Parson nodded sagely. "I see. Not a lot of positive relationships there. So why would you think of leaving here to go back to that?"

Mike sighed, trying to figure out how to put the thoughts and feelings he'd had over the last few weeks into some sort of coherent form. "I figure it's like this." He began at last. "The guys…they're likely the closest to real family I'm ever gonna have. And family, they're supposed to look after each other. Do right by each other, you know?" Doctor Parsons nodded, indicating he understood and Mike should continue, then waited patiently for the young man to gather his thoughts again. "They've done that for a long time now, but more this last month than anybody ever should have had to. They've been there for me like nobody else ever was. My Aunt Kate tried, but even she had limits because of…well…the way our people were. The guys, they're ….there aren't limits. They've just…no matter what, they've been there." Again, the doctor nodded. "Well, I tried to do right by them, too. But seems the more I settle back the more they show how what I've done wasn't so much necessary. Maybe what I've done was even more for me than them. Maybe they deserved better. So I let it go and watched. And it seems to me maybe they're better off a trio. Maybe all I've done was hold them back, and that ain't right. They shouldn't have somebody draggin' em down."

"Son," the doctor interrupted. "I'm gonna have you hold up right there. Seems to me that you're not giving those boys much credit in all of this."

Mike looked stunned. "How do you figure?"

"You make it sound like those boys' feelings don't count for much in all of this, and I'm not so sure that's a fair assessment." The doctor answered. "They're bright boys. They know what they're getting with you and they don't seem to be looking to change that." He held up a hand to forestall any interruptions as he continued. "Those boys stayed day and night with you for days tending to you when you were so sick with fever, so completely out of it, you couldn't do a thing for yourself. Hell, you could barely remember your own name. That doesn't sound like they were ready to be rid of you just yet. Then there's this little incident. They waited in that waiting room six hours while Jimmy Hannigan patched you back together, damned fine surgeon, that boy. Then they stuck around even after that until they could see you for themselves and know you were gonna be okay. Even after that, two of them have already hurried home and back from showering and eating and such so that they could get right back you, and the blonde boy hasn't even done that much yet because it wasn't in him to leave you alone here. Does that sound like any of them want to be rid of you, boy?"

"Wantin' somethin' don't mean you're better off with it," Mike countered, though he sounded less certain.

The doctor smiled. "Why don't you let them decide that much for themselves. Just answer me this: Do you think you're better off without them?"

"No," Mike answered promptly, sounding surprised that the doctor would even ask such a thing. "Nobody could ever think that. I already told you, they're the closest to family I've ever had. There isn't one of them I wouldn't do just about anything for." He looked up toward the ceiling. "They've struggled a long time, though, tryin' to make somethin' happen."

"You all have," the doctor interjected.

"Yeah, but…" Mike drawled slowly.

"Before you finish that thought, or let yourself go any further along that line, son, I really think you should listen to their take on this whole thing." Doctor Parsons suggested. "You may find that you're trying to take away from them something they're not willing to part with."

"But they deserve to be successful and…" Mike argued.

"And maybe when it comes down to what's important, they already are. And so are you." The doctor smiled, patting Mike's leg before rising and heading toward the door. "You're gonna be down a little while longer, so why not take that time to talk to them and decide what's best for all of you together? I'm thinking this may not be a decision you should be trying to make on your own."

"That's right," Davy agreed loudly from just outside the door. Micky and Peter each clamped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. They were busted.

Doctor Parsons laughed. "I suppose you three might as well come on in now and pick up this little conversation betwixt the four of you. I'll be back later on to check in."

Mike groaned, realizing that everything he'd just said had been overheard by his friends. "Now, before you three start gettin' all riled up…"

"Too late," Davy interrupted. "I thought we already talked about this. You're not leaving us. You can't. We told you that."

"I know that. " Mike sighed. "I just…I want you guys to have what…"

"What about what we want?" Peter demanded. "Doesn't that count for anything?"

"Of course it does," Mike groaned, seeing that this conversation wasn't going to go well. "You all want to succeed, don't you? And I want that for you."

"Then you can't leave, Mike." Davy pressed, unable to believe that needed to discuss this. "You don't think the audience noticed you weren't there? You were missed, Mike."

"Yeah, that red head and her friends really missed you, didn't they Davy?" Micky grinned.

"Oh, man, don't remind me." Davy groaned. At Mike's confused look, Micky laughed. Davy explained, "They wanted to know where the 'dreamy guy with the accent' was, and they didn't mean me."

Mike looked stunned. "They always mean you." He stated, making Micky laugh harder at Davy's apparent dejection.

"And the music didn't sound as good without you, either," Peter added in an effort to move the conversation forward and salvage something of Davy's pride.

Mike looked skeptical. "Now, Pete, I heard y'all practice. You sounded fine."

"Fine for a trio isn't the same as what we're supposed to sound like," Peter argued. "there wasn't the depth to our music. And the harmonies weren't as intricate as they're supposed to be. And …"

"And it doesn't matter anyway, since I already unpacked your things," Micky concluded. "Don't make me hide it all, Mike. I will."

"That's right," Davy agreed. "You're staying. End of story."

Peter nodded his agreement, placing a hand on Mike's shoulder. "You're not leaving us, Michael. We won't let you. Besides, I think we chased off your ride."

"Did we mention that Pete decked him and the doctor banned him from the hospital?" Micky asked, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "You really should have seen it, Mike. Pete stood up and told him to leave and the next word out of his mouth, Pete just…" Micky mimed punching someone in the head, then shook out his hand, his face screwed up in a comical parody of Peter's earlier expression.

Mike groaned, "Don't Mick. Laughing hurts, remember?"

"Sorry, Mike," Micky quickly sobered. "Just…we told you about that, though, right?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you did, but I don't think I bought it." He looked at Pete, sighing. "You really nailed him good, huh?"

Peter blushed, holding out his hand for Mike to see. "I bruised my thumb," he added in quiet embarrassment.

Mike shook his head, patting his friend's shoulder. "Thanks, Pete." He said at last.

"So you're not going to try to leave us, right?" Peter asked hopefully.

"Nah," Mike agreed after a moment. "I'm not goin' anywhere." He smirked, rolling his eyes as the other three cheered. "Um, guys. You might want to keep it down. This is a hospital, remember? Sick people…sleeping…ringin' any bells here?"

"Nope," Micky grinned. "Not a one."

Doctor Parsons smiled as he listened from his place outside the door, then slowly began his trek back up the hall. It looked like his patient might just be okay after all.


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14. There Is No Truth You Cannot Maim_

Though the news media hadn't made much of the heroic actions of a certain young musician currently in their care, the hospital staff seemed determined to. The fact that he'd been injured saving the lives of a mother and child but seemed to have so little to say about it intrigued them, and the knowledge that the mother and child were nowhere to be found only to made them more determined to remain attentive to the young man's needs in their stead. The only ones more attentive to him were the young man's friends, and the policemen still seeking the shooter. The young man himself, however, seemed frustrated by all the attention. Something screamed he might just run and hide to escape all the attention if only he could manage the movement without it causing him pain. Oddly enough, that only added to the staff's determination to see to his needs.

It was enough to make him crazy.

"Guys, look. Go on home now. It's late, you're tired, and honestly, it's not like I'm gonna do anything interesting anytime soon. No point in you three sittin' around starin' at me while I sleep." Mike implored them for what seemed like the billionth time.

"No way," Davy argued. "Mike, we can't leave you by yourself. What if Louis comes here looking for you. It's not safe."

"Davy, nobody's coming here." Mike protested yet again. Determined to find an ally in this, he turned to the others. "Pete…Micky…come on…"

Peter frowned. "I'm not sure, Mike. I mean, I still agree with Davy. What if he does come here and we're not here. Who's going to protect you?"

Mike groaned. "Now, Pete if that guy comes back here he's likely gonna be carrying somethin' he ought not have and I don't want any of you anywhere near his line of fire." Realizing from the matching looks of horror his friends each wore that he'd said the wrong thing, Mike quickly amended, "' 'sides, it ain't likely he's gonna come around here and if he did security'd catch him 'fore he got anywhere near me, okay? It ain't like nobody's lookin' for him or anything."

"They're not looking hard enough or they'd have caught him already." Micky reminded him. "I'm with Pete. We can sleep in the chairs. They're comfy enough, right guys?"

Mike quirked a brow at them, looking hard at each in turn. "You are not sleepin' in those chairs. You'll end up bent like pretzels, now come on. See reason here, please."

"Then we'll take turns going home," Davy suggested, stretching a bit in an effort to get comfortable. "I'm not tired yet, are you Micky?"

"Nope," Micky replied easily, though his red bleary eyes betrayed the truth. "Not a bit. You Pete?"

"Uh-uh." Peter stifled a yawn. "Not me."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Guys…" he begged. "Just go home. Please. Come back in the morning. I'll still be here, safe and sound, I promise, okay?"

"But Mike…" Davy protested.

"Please," Mike repeated, his tone soft and serious. "You guys sitting here wearin' yourselves out tryin' to watch over me isn't helpin' any of us. I need you all takin' care of yourselves until I'm back on my feet, now. Don't make me keep beggin'. Please."

Micky was the first to give in, placing a hand on Michael's arm. After a moment, he said quietly, "We'll be back in the morning."

Mike nodded, grateful that at least one of them was finally seeing reason.

Davy and Peter looked stunned. "Wait, I thought we…" Peter turned to Davy, who only shrugged in response.

"We'll be back at 7. Do you want us to bring you back anything?" Micky asked, silencing the others.

Mike thought a moment, then smiled softly. "Think you could bring my acoustic with you? And maybe some paper?"

"Told you!" Micky exclaimed with a smile, holding out his hand to Davy. "Pay up!"

"Aw, man." Davy groaned, pulling out his wallet and handing over a ten dollar bill as Peter snickered softly.

"Wait," Mike frowned. "You bet against me wantin' my guitar?"

"No, we all knew you'd want it. We just bet on how long it'd take you to ask for it." Micky grinned.

"And Davy thought…?"Mike asked with a smirk.

"I thought you'd wait until you were at least able to sit up without help to ask for it." Davy admitted.

Mike looked perturbed. "Why would you think that?"

"Your pride," Davy answered as if it should have been obvious. "You don't usually like to ask for help."

"And I'll need help to…what?" Mike prompted. Pointing to the button on the bed that elevated the head of the bed, he smirked again. "Push a button?"

Micky laughed. "Told ya." He said.

"What about you, Pete?" Mike asked. "You didn't get in on this?"

"I lost before Davy did," Pete admitted sheepishly.

Mike looked stunned. "You did?"

Pete nodded, smiling softly.

"Oh yeah," Micky said with a grin. "He thought your first words out of surgery would be 'where's my guitar'."

Michael laughed, then groaned, clutching his side and going white. "Geez, Mick. You're killin' me." He gasped, closing his eyes tightly.

"Sorry, man." Mick sobered quickly, pushing the button for the nurse again while Mike's eyes were closed, knowing he hadn't had any pain medication in awhile and wouldn't likely ask for it himself. "We're gonna go now. See you in the morning."

Mike just nodded, eyes still closed, blowing out a slow, deliberate breath in an effort to get the pain under control again.

"See ya, Mike." Davy said quietly, patting Mike's arm.

"'night Mike," Pete waved reluctantly from the doorway.

The room quickly emptied then, leaving the injured man alone.

The nurse stood in the doorway a moment watching the young man, still taking slow deliberate breaths, before tapping lightly. "Hey there," she greeted him, noting with concern how pale he seemed, as she entered and administered pain meds into his IV, having been caught by his friend on his way out and told of the need. "My name's Paige. I'll be your night nurse this evening."

Mike gave a half hearted wave as pain finally receded back to a dull roar once again. He opened his eyes and looked at her then. "Mike." He responded at last breathlessly.

She smiled warmly. "Nice to meet you, Mike. Can I get you anything else?"

"No thanks." He sighed, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm good."

"Alrighty, then." She replied, only half convinced. "Would you like me to turn off the light for you so you can get some sleep?"

"Sure," he nodded. "thanks."

Paige peeked at his chart, notated the medication given, then turned off the light, pausing a moment to contemplate the young man in the bed before closing the door to allow him some privacy and returning to the nurses' station.

Mike sighed, relaxing as the medication took effect. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later, a familiar figure stood over the young guitarist.

"Figures. You take a bullet for a couple of no 'count Mexicans but let your own momma die in front of you. Just like you, ain't it boy. Nothin' but trouble since you was conceived. I told her what to do. Even gave her the money to do it, but no, she had to keep you. Even wrote and told Ren about you, sayin' I forced her, but she knew what she was doin' dancin' around in that thin cotton dress like that tempting me. Drinkin' and smilin' and carryin' on. Didn't nobody have to force her to do nothin'. But she was lonely with your dad overseas like that, so she done what she had to do to get by. She could have got rid of you and nobody'd have known 'stead of letting you ruin everything for all of us, but she never was all that bright, your ma. Then she went named you for me so none of us could ever forget our mistake. How was anyone supposed to forgive and forget with it throwed in their face like that? He couldn't look at you without rememberin' what we done. Rememberin' our mistake. That's all you ever was, boy. A mistake. He kept tryin' to come back but you was still right there remindin' him and he just couldn't get past it no matter how many times he tried. Maybe once you're finally dead and gone he'll forgive us, not so it'll do her any good now. It's 'cause of you she done what she did." The deep Texan voice drawled it's confession and sentence all like it was just chatting over a cup of coffee with a friend, then the tall lanky man stepped forward, throwing back the blankets from the apparently sleeping boy and grasping his arm, shaking it to wake him. His eyes trailed from the IV pole back to the boy. "what's this shit." He dropped the boy's arm and punched him in the shoulder hard. "Wake up." He barked.

Mike lay there, forcing his eyes to remain closed, feigning sleep in the vague hope that the man in the room would just go away, ignoring the tale he'd heard a hundred times before, trying to remain detached from it all until the punch in his arm forced him to exhale sharply the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He opened his eyes then, fixing the man looming over him with a defiant glare. _Breathe,_ he reminded himself. _Stay calm and think. He can't do anything to you. Not anymore._

"Good mornin' sunshine." Mike's uncle, Robert Michael Nesmith, Senior, said with a mirthless smile. "Now get up. Let's go."

"What are you doin' here?" Mike asked, keeping his tone conversational. _You're not twelve anymore, _he reminded himself. _You're not a kid. He can't make you do anything, and he knows it. He has to know it. It's not like he can just drag you out of here. "_Thought you'd been banned from comin' in here." he reminded him calmly.

"What do you think I'm doin' here? Don't nobody tell me where I can and can't be." Uncle Robert sneered. "I got woke up in the middle of the night to come get your sorry ass after you got yourself shot for another man's wife, that's what I'm doin' here. And I owe you one for that half-wit friend of yours takin' a cheap shot at me. Now get up and let's go." He gestured toward the IV. "And get that shit out of your arm. It ain't like we can take it with us."

Mike shook his head. Even if he could move right now, there was no way he was going anywhere with his uncle. He reached his hand toward the button that would signal the nurse's station he needed help.

"Don't you touch that," His uncle warned, his expression growing dark as his hands balled into fists. "Ain't nobody comin' for you but me. Now don't make me tell you again. Get your good for nothin' ass up out of that bed and let's go, boy."

"Sorry you wasted your time driving all that way for nothing, but I'm not going anywhere with you." Mike replied stonily, his outward appearance giving away none of the panic just the sight of this man always induced in him. _You're not a child and he's not all powerful. _He reminded himself, though another part of him whispered, _you're also in no condition to run or fight, and he knows it. He preys on weakness, remember, and right now he knows you're weak. _He quickly told that part of himself to shut up. He closed his eyes forcing his body to relax again, refusing to show fear in his uncle's presence, knowing the man would take advantage of it. Instead, he told him calmly, "If you leave now you can beat the traffic back home."

"Look here you sorry shit, I didn't drive all the way up here to go home without you whatever it takes." Uncle Robert spat, kicking the side of the bed, causing it to jerk hard, sneering as Mike went white but refused to make a sound. "You went and got yourself gut shot, that's fine by me. But gettin' Katie and the others all riled up thinkin' you was dyin' and everyone worryin' you'd get sunk in a paupers lot somewhere, well we can't just let that go. You're kin, like it or not. So I swore I'd bring your body back for proper burial for 'em and I'll be damned if I don't intend to do just that." He reached down and grabbed Mike by the arms, hauling him up out of the bed, smiling when the young man finally cried out in pain. "Time to go home, boy."

Paige made her rounds along the corridor again, checking in on her patients, when she noticed that the door to one of their rooms was open. She knew she'd closed it when she left it last, and nobody was scheduled to have gone in there since, since visiting hours were long since over. She shook her head, quickening her step. Something wasn't right. She could hear talking as she approached, and paused a moment to listen, then quickly flagged down the nearest person, a custodian mopping a little ways up the hall. "Get security for me, please, and send them to room 217." At his nod, she entered the room just as her patient cried out in pain, demanding "What do you think you're doing?"

The tall, lanky man had her patient pinned against him, his long arms contracting around the boy like boa constrictor so tightly he barely seemed to be breathing. He had pulled the boy's IV from his arm, and seemed determined to drag him, struggling, from the room. She noted with concern that bordered on panic that the young man's struggles seemed to be weakening as he went an alarming shade of grey. "We were just leavin', " the man replied in a heavily accented voice, smiling in a way that conveyed nothing but malice though his tone seemed completely conversational.

"Sir, please, just put him down a moment and let's talk about this," Paige requested as calmly as she could manage, hoping against hope that someone from security would hurry up and get there. "He's in no condition to go anywhere right now. Whatever reason you have for wanting to take him out of here, you need to understand he shouldn't be moved right now. He shouldn't even be out of that bed. Please…"

"I'll do what needs to be done with him," the man interrupted, though nothing in either his words or his tone did anything to reassure Paige at all. "You just clear on out of the way, Missy, and I'll take care of him. Don't you worry."

"As much as I'd like to comply, sir, I'm afraid I really can't. You see, I'm responsible for him. Mike's my patient. I can't just let you walk out of here with him. Look at him. Can't you see that what you're doing right now is hurting him? Please…," she heard movement behind her and hoped fervently that it was security arriving at last. "Mike needs…"

"Robert." The man growled, though his voice seemed to gentle somewhat as he continued. "His name is Robert, not Michael. Robert Michael Nesmith. First name Robert. I know that, see, because he was named for me. He's my albatross, you see. You know that story?"

"Yes, sir, I do," Paige answered, "I also remember that in it the albatross was good luck until some misguided fool killed it. Now please…."

"Put him down, sir," one of the voices behind her demanded. Paige breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing the voice of Adam, one of their security guards. "Just ease him down and back up."

"23 years, I been saddled with him," Robert continued talking to Paige as if the security guard hadn't even spoken, making no move to release the young man who had completely stopped struggling, going limp in his arms. "Since she found out she was pregnant. Ruined everything. My reputation. My family. He…one mistake. See, that's what he is. My one mistake. I aim to fix that now."

"Not tonight," Adam said, drawing his weapon and aiming it. Why did they always get the nut jobs on his shift? "Tonight, you put him down as gently as you can and you put your hands behind your head or I put a bullet between your eyes. Just for fun. What do you say?"

"Adam, please, " Paige hissed, certain that antagonizing the crazy man probably wasn't the best idea.

"Please," Adam amended, hoping that would appease the nervous nurse. "Of course, if you'd rather take door number two, Paige here might be able to keep you alive long enough to put you on life support. Maybe we can even let you be an organ donor for your albatross later. Sound good?" God, he hated graveyard shift. And hadn't they just thrown this guy out a couple nights ago?

Paige had already stopped paying attention beyond stepping out from between them. Letting Adam handle the still-conscious Texan, she turned her attention to the one in his arms. She began timing the rise and fall of the younger man's chest, relieved to see that he was, indeed breathing, though not as deeply, perhaps, as she would like.

"Last warning, sir," Adam pressed as another guard came into the room behind him.

Seeing that he had no other option, the older man finally relented and lowered the young man down to the floor then put his hands behind his head as he'd been directed, shooting daggers with his eyes at the guards as he did so. The moment he was out of the older man's arms, Paige hurried to her patient's side, reaching for the button for the nurse's station, fairly certain she'd need more help.

"Helps already outside waiting for the all clear," the second guard, whose voice she recognized as Marcus, informed her.

"Good. Now step back and turn to face the wall," Adam kept his attention on the older Texan, leaving the younger in Paige's capable hands as he stepped forward with his cuffs. He looked down at Paige and Mike only after he was certain the elder man was secured. "How's he doing?"

"He'll live," Paige sighed, shaking her head, as she continued with her assessment. "He popped a few stitches. We'll need to watch him closely for the next few hours to be sure that he didn't undo anything internally. But he'll live."

"Good enough," Adam nodded, guiding the now-despondent elder Nesmith toward the exit. The waiting attending physician and another nurse entered in their wake.

Once the patient was once again where he should be, sutures redone, IV reinserted, apparently resting comfortably, everyone filed out to continue their other duties, though all kept a closer eye on the door of the young musician until his friends arrived again promptly at 7 am.

"Morning, Mike," Micky greeted his friend brightly as they entered the room, setting his friend's guitar next to the bed.

"Did you miss us?" Davy asked, plopping into the nearest chair.

Mike gave a little half smile, nodding. It was safe to say his friends' absence had been felt during the night, though he wasn't about to go into why.

"Yup." He answered at last, realizing they were still waiting for an actual reply. "I really did."

Peter smiled, oddly pleased by that fact, as he handed over pencil and paper. "Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"You know how it is, Shotgun," Mike shrugged carefully, still sore and tired from the night's adventure. "Nobody sleeps well in hospitals."


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter 15. Memory of my life without you_

The guys enjoyed the first couple of hours visiting, all singing together and just generally acting silly while Mike played a little and occasionally even almost smiled. They chatted between songs about vague nothing topics until Mike was worn out enough to fall asleep, concerned that it seemed to happen far more quickly than they'd expected.

"I guess he really didn't sleep well last night," Peter frowned. "Maybe we should bring him his own pillow or something. Do you think that might help?"

"I'm sure their pillows are fine, Pete. Besides, he doesn't always sleep all that well even at home. He's almost always the last one down, and first one up." Micky reminded them, digging into the bag they'd brought to grab his magazine, trying to hide his own concern. "He probably just had too much on his mind last night. You know how he gets. We just need to let him rest whenever he can as long as he can right now."

Pete considered that a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, you're probably right. He has been through an awful lot lately. First getting so sick and everything, and now this."

"Guess it's just all catching up to him," Davy sighed, unconvinced. He glanced from Mike to the other two as he grabbed his equestrian magazine and took a seat beside the bed. "You guys can go grab something from the commissary if you like. I'll stay with him."

Peter shook his head, removing Mike's guitar from his hands as gently as he could and setting it aside for him next to the oxygen tanks with the breathing mask attached. His brow furrowed as he looked at those tanks. Had they been there before? "I'm good." He answered Davy absently, settling into a chair on Mike's other side and picking back up the comic book he'd brought. "I had two bowls of cereal before we came."

"Which reminds me, we're out of Rice Krispies," Davy informed Micky, pointing with his magazine for emphasis before turning his gaze back to its pages.

"Remind me when we head home tonight and we'll swing by the store," Micky nodded, rising and setting his Rolling Stone aside. "I'm hungry again, though," he stuck his tongue out at the over-exaggerated expressions of shock and mocking "No! Really?'s' that both shot in his direction. "Cute, guys. Real cute. Be right back."

Micky was about to step out when a matronly nurse came in with a heated blanket in her hands. He stopped to watch as she checked Mike's IV quickly, took his pulse, laying the back of her hand against his forehead, and took his blood pressure, nodding to herself before noting it in the chart. She then set about swapping Mike's blanket out with the heated one, all the while remaining mindful not to wake him. "Don't mind me, boys. It was time to check in on him, and I just thought he might be ready for another one of these while I was at it," she smiled at them. She finished carefully swapping out the blanket covering the sleeping boy for the nicely heated one she'd carried in as she continued. "Paige took great care of him after all of that craziness last night, but he was still a bit shocky this morning when I came on. No surprise after all of that, I suppose. Poor thing. Don't worry, though. They've got us all peeking in on him more often now. Though I can't imagine any of us wouldn't have done it on our own even if we hadn't been told to, to be honest." She finished smoothing the blanket down, patting Mike's shoulder gently. "Poor dear. I'd hate to think what would have happened to him if Paige hadn't noticed that open door. "

All three boys looked at her as if they were completely lost. "What do you mean?" Pete finally asked for them, though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. Incidences that caused people to refer to someone as a 'poor dear' weren't usually good ones.

"Oh my," the nurse groaned. "I've….he didn't …oh dear. " She knew from their stunned expressions that her assumption that he'd have told him was wrong. No matter how much she thought they ought to know, though, she wasn't about to tell them if her patient didn't want them told. "You know…just…forget I was here. " With that she quickly bustled out of the room.

Peter just sat there with his mouth open, staring in her wake. What had all that been about?

Micky shook his head as he reached out and closed Pete's mouth then looked from him to Davy. "Alright boys." He addressed them in his best 'British Brigadier General' voice, "The way I see it, we have no choice. At the desk out there are at least four probable targets. It's time to deploy our secret weapon."

"What's that?" Pete asked, frowning. He didn't remember bringing in any weapons.

"Are you ready, Jones?" Micky inquired in a faux British accent.

"I am, sir," Davy stood up and saluted. "I shall gather the required intelligence and return or die!"

"But Davy, I don't want you to die!" Peter blurted out, clearly not following the meaning behind their conversation.

"Bring back some extra for Pete," Micky groaned, waving Davy off and ignoring the look Peter shot at him as he turned back toward Mike. Once again, it surprised him how Peter could be so surprisingly insightful some of the time and yet so unbelievable thick at others.

Davy returned to the room a little while later, his expression troubled despite the fact that he was tucking someone's phone number into his pocket. He moved to Mike's bedside, making certain that Mike was still out, and gently lifted the sleeve of the hospital gown Mike wore, tearing up at the sight of the bruises that stood out starkly on pale skin. Quietly, he filled the other two in on the return of Mike's Uncle Robert then asked as he sank back into his chair. "How long do you suppose he's planning on waiting before he tells us about this?"

"Best guess? I'd say forever," Micky answered, leaning dejectedly against the wall. "He was just going to smile and play his guitar and pretend everything was okay. Again."

Peter looked pained. "Maybe he just thought that since it wasn't Louis…"

"If it had been Louis he'd have killed Mike before anyone noticed the open door." Davy spat angrily, though he couldn't quite sort out whether he was angrier at Mike's uncle for what he did or at Mike himself for not telling them it happened. "I don't care what Mike' says, we can't let him risk that."

"And he can't risk any of us getting caught in the line of fire," Micky interrupted, trying to help all of them, including himself, understand why Mike would decide to keep something so big a secret from them again. He realized even as he said it that, though, that understanding why he did it didn't make it bother him any less. "It's like he said to Peter yesterday. If Louis shows up, he'll probably show up armed."

"Exactly my point," Davy pressed on, his anger mounting and his voice beginning to rise, prompting Pete to shush him, pointing at Mike with a disapproving glare. Davy drew a slow, deep breath then continued more quietly despite the growing desperation in his voice, "If he shows up here armed and Mike's alone, we're going to lose him, and I can't..." Davy's voice grew thick with emotion and the young Brit looked away as he admitted quietly, "I can't do that, okay?"

"None of us can," Peter agreed, his eyes fixed firmly upon the comic in his lap. He was more afraid than he wanted to admit, but he didn't know what to do. Somehow, there didn't seem to be an answer that kept them all safe.

"If he shows up here armed and Mike's not alone, do you think that will stop him from shooting? Even if a security guard could get here in time to save most of us," Micky looked at Davy seriously, hating himself for playing devil's advocate, but seeing no real way to avoid it. "Do you think Mike could stand seeing even one of us gunned down in front of him? Remember what he told us about when he was a kid. Do you think he'd ever willingly risk that again?"

"So what are we supposed to do, then? Just let Louis have him? " Davy looked ready to scream in frustration, though he forced himself not to. "Does all that make it fair to ask us to just stand aside and let anyone who wants a clear shot at him have it? I mean, look at his arms, Micky. Did you notice the bruises when you came in, because I didn't? He's too good at hiding things from us, and I'm not okay with that anymore, are you?"

"Of course not! None of this is okay, okay? Not any of it. I hate it as much as you do. And I hoped he wouldn't think he had to keep secrets anymore, but does it really surprise me? " Micky answered in disbelief. How could Davy even ask him that? "He thinks he's supposed to be protecting us, remember?"

"It's because nobody protected him back then. He's always had to handle it alone." Peter sighed, looking at the others.

"But he's not alone," Davy insisted. Clearing his throat, he reminded the others, "He hasn't been alone for four years now. I've lived with him four years now, and you guys - we've been all of us together for nearly two. How is that alone?"

"Right. He hasn't been alone. Instead he's been Papa Nez to all of us." Micky pointed out. "We find new ways to get us all into trouble and he finds new ways to get us out of it. You don't think that wears on him sometimes? You don't think he might still feel like it's all on his shoulders? He might still feel kind of alone in it all."

"We just have to find a way to make him really understand that has changed." Peter reminded them, surprisingly becoming the voice of reason.

"If he doesn't understand after four years together that he's not in this alone, I don't see how we're going to make him understand it now." Davy said sadly, feeling as if he'd failed his friend somehow. "I always thought it didn't matter who finds the trouble and who finds the way out, it's still all of us together. All in, and all out. Together."

"You're right, Davy. All in, all out. And right now, he's the one in trouble, and we're the ones who have to find the way out. All together. We're just going to have to put our foot down." Micky said after a moment's thought. "He may be our leader, but he's not in charge right now. Not until he's back on his feet."

"Right," Peter agreed readily.

Davy nodded as well. "Agreed. We're in charge, and as long as we're in charge, nobody gets in here again."

"So…um…I don't suppose whoever you talked to out there told you what they did with his uncle?" Micky asked Davy, his eyes glued to their sleeping friend. He wasn't sure that one wouldn't come back armed given another chance after what he did last night. Could they really stand up to two armed enemies if it came to it?

"They arrested him last night," Davy answered, causing Micky to breathe a sigh of relief. "The girl at the desk said that there were enough witnesses that Mike won't even have to testify against him if he doesn't want to. He still shouldn't be able to get near anyone again for a long time."

Micky nodded, "Well there's that, at least."

Mike shifted slightly, groaning, and the room grew silent, all eyes on their friend. He woke then, his eyes flying open, pure terror registering in them.

"Mike?" Peter inquired softly, not touching him for fear of startling him before he was fully awake. "you okay?"

"mmhmm..." Mike forced himself to breathe and relax, realizing where he was and who was there with him. Quickly, his features assumed his normal stoic mask. "Yeah. Fine. Sorry. Guess I dozed off on ya."

Peter exchanged a look with the other two, uncertain what they should say. Finally, Pete just placed a hand gently on Mike's shoulder and replied. "Um…that's okay, Mike. You're supposed to be resting, right?"

Mike almost smiled. "Yeah…guess so." He blew out a breath and looked from one friend to another. "What'd I miss?"

As if by some unspoken agreement, all three of his friends evaded the question.

"Just…reading…" Davy replied, holding up his magazine. Glancing at the other two, he continued, "Oh. Your nurse brought you another heated blanket while you slept. She seemed to think you might still be a little...what was it she said, guys? Shocky? Anyway, she thought you might need it."

"They're very attentive today, aren't they?" Micky prompted, hoping Mike would take the bait and tell them about the previous night on his own.

Mike shrugged noncommittally. "Yeah, I guess they are," he answered before looking around for his Gretch, thinking it might be a good idea to change the subject. Not seeing it, he frowned. "Where's my guitar?" he asked at last.

"I put it next to the oxygen tanks." Peter replied, thinking that mentioning that they'd noticed them might prod Mike a little and get him talking. "The ones with the face mask, there by the head of your bed. I don't remember those being here yesterday."

"Me either," Mike admitted, though he didn't bother elaborating. Instead, he asked calmly, "Don't suppose you can hand that to me, could you, babe?"

"I'll grab it for you." Davy began. When Mike smiled, he added, "And I will trade it to you. You get the guitar, and we get a few less secrets."

Mike looked stunned. "Secrets?" he asked cautiously. "What kind of secrets?"

"What kind you got?" Micky asked, fixing Mike with a curious stare. Were there more than just this one?

"Let's start with what we missed last night and go from there," Davy said, holding the Gretch just out of Michael's reach.

Peter shook his head in disbelief. Did they really have to do it this way? Making Mike feel cornered was almost never the right way to go if you didn't want him angry at you. Besides, it felt too much like ganging up on him for Peter's comfort.

"Start with what you already know," Mike sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. "We'll work back from there, I guess."

"Oh, you guess that, do you?" Davy asked, anger and frustration building again. Why wouldn't he just talk to them? Why couldn't he ever just trust them?

"Look, what do you want me to say," Mike finally asked, closing his eyes, his teeth clenched with the effort to contain his emotions. "It wasn't exactly a peaceful night, is that what you want to hear? Okay, short version, things got kinda ugly and I got to movin' more around that I ought to have, popped a few stitches and ended up spendin' the rest of the night and early mornin' being fussed over and feelin' a little less comfortable than I was before. Then y'all got here and things seemed better until I fell asleep and woke up to this. Good enough? Now can I please have my guitar?"

"Let's try the long version now," Davy pressed, unable to believe Mike was still trying to make it all out like the whole night was no big deal. When Mike just shook his head and remained silent, Davy exploded, "Dammit, Michael, this isn't fair. We're supposed to be in this together, all of us, a team. We tell you everything. There isn't one detail of me growing up to coming here to the states you don't know. Same with Peter and Micky. You could probably write the book on us. And when we need help, no matter how big or small the problem seems, we always come to you and let you help us. We let you stand up for us and keep us safe. Why can't you let us do that for you? That's part of the deal, right?" Davy stood and began to pace in frustration, " We can't keep doing this. You kept how sick you were from us until it got so bad we could have lost you. For three days we watched over you and took care of you because you didn't give us a chance to help you before it got that bad. You kept what you knew about Maria's husband from us until it exploded. Six hours, Mike. We waited in that waiting room six hours not knowing if you were going to live or not. And when the doctor came out, he was…he was just covered in …" Tears streamed down his cheeks and wiped at them angrily. "Then we come in this morning and you're laying there pale and tired and you seem worse than you were yesterday and all you tell us is 'nobody sleeps well in a hospital'. You deliberately kept the truth from us, again. You don't think we might have wanted to know that someone came and tried to drag you out of here? He knew it could kill you and tried to do it anyway. Maybe that's even what he wanted it to do. He definitely wanted to hurt you, either way." He held up a finger to forestall whatever comment Mike may have considered, "You want to start with what we know? Fine…here's what we know. Here's what you should have told us instead of avoiding it this morning. He came here and dragged you up, holding you as tight as he could while you struggled against him, getting weaker and weaker until you finally passed out because of the pain or because you couldn't get enough air or both. Your stitches came undone during all of that, and he still didn't let you go. He kept on holding you so tight you couldn't get enough air and letting you bleed while he argued with the nurse and the security guard, because he was still trying to take you out of here. When they finally got you away from him, they had to put you on oxygen and treat you for shock and they were afraid you might be bleeding internally again. They're all still watching you so closely now so that they _might_ be able to catch it if they missed something all because of what he did to you. Don't you get it, Mike? They're still not sure what he did won't …" He looked down, trying to gather himself, but once again held up a finger, indicating it still wasn't yet Mike's turn to talk. Not until he was done. "He hurt you because nobody was here to stop him, and you didn't tell us that. You're still trying to protect us, from being hurt or being upset or even just being tired, okay, we get it, except it doesn't work that way and you need to _just stop_." His voice broke as he looked at Mike, not trying to hide the tears, "I need you to just stop. You have to stop keeping things from me, because…because this hurts, Mike…" He choked out the last words. Peter put his arms around Davy in an effort to comfort him, his hazel eyes fixed on Michael, who lay there in stunned silence.

"He's right, Mike." Micky agreed, putting a hand on Davy's shoulder in an effort to comfort their youngest. "You're killing yourself trying to protect…what? Us? We're not the ones who need protecting right now. You are. This isn't helping us. Seeing you hurt…it's killing us, Mike. Maybe if you focused on protecting yourself…maybe even letting us help for a change…that would help us. All of us. Including you."

Mike just nodded, unable to find his voice in that moment. When he knew he could speak clearly again, he said softly, "I'm sorry, Tiny. All of you. I didn't think…I just…I thought I was…" he hated the fact that when he needed them the most, words evaded him, forcing him to once again stumble through in an effort to make his thoughts and feelings understood. " Just bear with me here, guys, please? I'm not sure…I mean, I trust you all, I swear I do, I'm just…I haven't …I don't know how to do this…okay?"

"Don't worry, Michael," Peter smiled, willing to let him off the hook even if the others weren't. "We'll be here to talk you through it from now on."

"All of us," Micky added.

"That's right," Davy agreed after a moment. "We'll all be right here, because I'm not leaving you alone again. Got it?"

Mike nodded, his eyes bright. "Got it, Tiny," He agreed, willing to say or do just about anything in that moment to stop the tears and make them all feel whole again.

In the doorway, the inspector cleared his throat. "I hate to break up this little lovefest you've all got going on, but I've got a few a questions for your friend, boys, if you'll just wait outside."

The tiny Brit took hold of Mike's hand then tightly enough to make the lanky Texan wince. Prying Davy's hand loose, Mike set it back down on his arm and patted it gently, sighing. "They're all fine where they are. Go on and ask your questions."

"Alright, Nishwash," the inspector began. "If you're sure."

"Nesmith," Mike corrected automatically.

"Right. Why don't you start by filling me in on your real relationship with Louis Sandoval's wife? Maybe tell us your real connection to the Sandoval drug family?" the inspector smirked. "Keeping in mind, of course, your uncle has already told us the truth."

"My uncle wouldn't know the truth if it strolled up and bit him on the leg," Mike snorted, then gasped, his hand going protectively to his side.

"We already told you what happened, "Micky reminded the inspector, moving quickly to his friend's side. He reached for the nurse's button, only to find Mike blocking his hand, shaking his head.

"It's fine, Mick." Mike swallowed hard. Quietly, he answered the inspector. "I met Maria and Lucy 'bout a month ago. Maria missed her bus, it was rainin', I took her home, met Lucy then. I started teachin' Lucy guitar. We became friends. She told me about her husband during that time, but I never met him 'fore the other night when he showed up with a gun, aimin' it at the little one's head."

"So you didn't know them before. While you were in Texas?" the inspector asked, looking as if he was ready to pounce.

Mike shook his head. "No sir. Far as I know they ain't never been to Texas. Least wise Maria never mentioned it."

"According to your uncle you dropped out of school and ran away to work with the Sandovals." The inspector said with a grin. "He says you were helping them bring their drugs into the United States before you ran off with Sandoval's wife after she got pregnant with your child."

Mike smirked, his brows shooting up beneath the swoop of raven hair threatening to fall into his eyes. "He said all that, did he?" He asked the inspector. "And when did we all come to California, then, 'cordin' to him? "

"He said you ran toward San Antonio Texas six years ago, and brought Maria to California four years ago when you got her pregnant. So, would you care to amend your statement now?" the inspector replied smugly, certain he'd caught a drug trafficker red handed.

Mike rolled his eyes. "I ran off six years ago to get away from happenin's like last night. Uncle Robert ain't never been a fan and it ain't the first time he decided to remind me of it. And I ain't been to San Antone since I was six." He told the inspector. "I came up this way when I left home. Found the beach house and convinced Mister Babbitt to rent it to me. Him and my Aunt Kate and prob'ly half the tenants still living 'round there can vouch for that. It was just me. No woman. Davy moved in two years after when I needed to take on a roommate. Still no woman. Also easily confirmed by Mr. Babbitt and the neighbors. Not quite two years later Pete and Micky moved in, too. Easy enough to prove. Neighbors, Babbitt. They can also tell you when Maria moved in, most likely. Also, Lucy just turned six. Not four. So much for my uncle's 'truth'."

The inspector looked angry, though he recovered quickly. "Alright. I'll check on all of that. Meanwhile, why don't we go over how you ended up getting shot."

"Alright, let's do that," Mike agreed, though he seemed to already be running out of steam. Davy remained where he was, his hand on Mike's. Micky and Peter each moved closer, placing their hands on Mike's shoulders supportively. "Maria's friend Rosalie came to the house lookin' for help…"

"Your friends. They weren't there with you?" the inspector asked, already looking for ways to punch holes in his story, preferring the elder Nesmith's version as it meant a bigger bust.

"They were playin' a gig at Antonelli's," Mike answered. "I was home alone when she came poundin' on the door lookin' for someone to …"

"Why weren't you with them? I thought you were part of the band." The inspector inquired, thinking he may have found the flaw in their story.

"Been sick," Mike answered wearily. "wasn't supposed to go anywhere. Didn't plan on it, either, but what was I gonna do when Rosalie came over all panicked."

"Why didn't you just call the police?" the inspector asked, his eyes narrowing.

Micky chimed in then, "Rosalie did, then brought us to where he was right after the gig. She told us in the car, though, that your dispatcher said she'd send someone as soon as you had a squad car free, since domestic disturbances weren't a priority. If Mike had waited on one of your cars to get free to get over there Lucy and Maria would have been dead!"

"You don't know that, now, do you boy? Maybe the situation wouldn't have escalated if your friend here hadn't got in the middle of it all." The inspector offered with a smirk.

"Now just hold up a minute. You're skippin' over a few important details here. He was wavin' a gun around and pointin' it at a six year old. You're suggestin' I should have just waited for someone to get there when they felt like it," Mike demanded in disbelief. "By the time you guys showed up he'd already split. He could have killed them both and bolted by that time if nobody did anything. I couldn't let that happen. I wasn't gonna just stand by and let him kill them."

Peter squeezed Mike's shoulder gently to show him he understood and agreed. "He did the right thing." He said aloud as well.

The inspector considered that a moment, then asked. "Okay. So we'll accept that, for now, everyone's story but your uncle's match up on that issue. I imagine we'll find out more when we find Sandoval. Meanwhile, let's talk about last night."

Mike looked at each of his friends, then sighed. "I was just startin' to doze off, finally, when he got there. I, um…I kept my eyes…closed…so he'd think I was still sleepin'."

"How'd you know he was there if your eyes were closed?" the inspector asked, not sure how that was plausible.

"Hard to miss." Mike answered, his eyes closed as he spoke. "It's that smell of stale sweat and Old Spice and Jim Beam and chewing tobacco. Same smell he's always had."

"I see," the inspector nodded, having noticed the rather unpleasant blend of smells himself while interrogating the man. "Go on."

"He started out taking my arm. Shaking it. Talking to himself, or me, or …who knows. It was the same stuff he always said, reminding me how much he hates me and why. " Mike went on quietly, trying to keep his voice dispassionate, though his friends could hear the underlying pain there. "When I didn't react he punched my shoulder. Hard. Sort of gave myself away after that."

Micky looked at Pete, whose eyes were already starting to mist up. He reached over with his free hand and patted the blonde's arm. Davy's gaze, however, remained fixed on their fallen friend.

"then?" the inspector prodded impatiently.

"He told me to get up. I refused. He dragged me out of bed," Mike answered automatically, still trying for a calm he didn't feel, if only for the sake of the other three listening. "He wrapped me in a bear hug, just tightened up 'till I couldn't breathe 'n held on 'till I passed out." He tried to forget the way the pain ripped through him when his uncle pulled him into his arms. He didn't mention that his uncle had learned to grab him from behind so he couldn't aim a head butt or a knee up as he used to, finding ways to fight back even though his arms were immobilize, the hard way. Indeed, this had always been a favorite punishment from his uncle, as it left his prey helpless, giving him complete power and control. Focus on the simple facts, he reminded himself. "Can't tell you much past that. I know the nurse and a guard got me away from him, but I'm not sure how. Next I really know, it's mornin'. I'm bundled up in warm blankets. I've got new stitches, and a new nurse. That's it." He blew out a slow breath, determined to hold it together. Falling apart now was just not an option, he thought as he desperately fought for some thread of control to cling to. He was surprised, then, when each of his friends squeezed his arm gently. He gazed up at each in turn, then nodded in answer to their unspoken question. He was going to be just fine.

The inspector nodded. Again, the story pretty much fell in line with the testimony he'd already been given from all but the uncle himself. "Alright, then. I'll come back if I need anything else." He turned then and left, focusing only on the job, leaving the comforting of the young guitarist to those who actually gave a damn.


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter 16. Used To Come as One, Now It Comes as Four_

Late into the night Mike sat propped up in the bed, picking out a tune on his guitar quietly, only pausing to take notes occasionally, while the others surrounded him on cots they'd managed to acquire from the matronly nurse that morning, who seemed to delight in seeing her young charge guarded and cared for by his friends. Paige, his night nurse, paused in the doorway to listen a moment, smiling to herself, before stepping in.

"Even as beautiful as that was, and I admit it really was, I'm afraid that you, sir, still should be sleeping," she scolded him gently.

"Was," Mike replied with a sigh, glancing up from the fret board for only a second before returning his attention to what he was working on.

"And…?" Paige prompted, moving to peek at his chart. "Do you need something to help with that?"

Mike shook his head, but kept at what he was doing. "No, ma'am. I 'most always wake up off and on. Sleep in spurts. Kinda always did, I suppose."

Page frowned, checking her watch, "Mr. Nesmith…"

"Mike," he reminded her absently.

"It's almost 2am, Mike." Paige moved to check his IV, before turning to face him again. "I understand you 'kinda always' do this, but, in case you've forgotten, you're body has been through a series of traumas it needs to heal from right now, so you need to sleep. It's one of those 'gee, I should get healthy again before resuming bad habits like not sleeping' things. So, how about I put that over here out of the way for you and, if you're having trouble sleeping, I get you something to help you do that. Your doctor made sure that there was already a script on file for it if you needed it. "

"Oh. One of those things, is it?" Mike smirked, looking up at her. Turning his attention to his guitar once again, he played another strain, then stopped and wrote something else down. "It's fine. I slept a lot earlier today."

"Actually, it's not fine, Mike." Paige disagreed. "I'd rather you were cooperating after last night. Adam and I put a lot into keeping you alive last night, you know. I've got sort of a personal interest in seeing you make it now."

"I know, and I appreciate that." At her unconvinced expression, he switched tactics, "Lemme just get this down while it's fresh in my head. I'll settle back again soon enough." Paige shook her head in disbelief. Did he really not understand why he needed to listen to her right now? Mike sighed, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. "Look, I dig where you're comin' from and I'm really not tryin' to be difficult here, it's just…"

"Then work with me. Please." Paige picked up the notebook he'd been writing in, glancing at it briefly. "Okay, wow. You wrote all of this tonight?"

"mhmm…" he replied opening his eyes and reaching for the notebook. "Almost done."

"No..." Paige shifted the notebook toward the door, not counting on how long her patient's arms were. "I thought we just settled this." She protested as he nimbly plucked it from her fingers and began writing feverishly once again. He regarded for with a slightly bemused expression for a split second before handing her back the notebook.

"Done." He sighed, setting the pencil back down next to him and closing his eyes again.

Paige set the notebook on the bedside table, taking the pencil from beside him and settling it on top of the notebook. "Does that mean I can have the guitar now, too?"

Mike shook his head without opening his eyes. "…nah, 'm just gonna hang onto it…" he murmured softly. Within moments his breathing evened out once again.

Paige waited until she was certain Mike was asleep and gently removed the Gretch from his hands and set it aside, much as Peter had that morning.

"He really can't help it," Peter told her softly without moving.

Micky sat up on the cot, obviously having been awake and listening for awhile. "He wakes up and writes off and on all night. He'll usually go back to sleep as soon as he's done writing down whatever's running through his head. Once in awhile it's a whole poem or a song, but it's usually just a few lines or phrases. He's done that as long as I've known him."

"Well, I'm starting to wonder if maybe it wouldn't be in his best interest to take what the doctor prescribed to help him sleep through the night and just add it to the night meds in his IV." She held up a hand to forestall Micky's protests. "It's not about what is or isn't normal for him when he's healthy. It's about what he needs now that he isn't."

Micky nodded. He knew that. "It's not always…" he started off. "I mean…he has bad dreams, you know. He doesn't say it, but you can see it, sometimes. In his eyes. His body language. If you give him something to keep him asleep…what happens if he has those dreams?"

"Wait, what do you mean he has bad dreams?" Davy demanded, sitting up as well. "Since when?"

"Well, at least the two years or so that I've known him." Micky shrugged. "He doesn't wake up screaming or anything. I mean, he never makes a sound at all, really, but you can tell. His eyes just look…you can definitely tell…and he gets all tense. Kind of like he did this morning. Remember?"

Davy looked very disturbed by that news, but instead of asking Micky more about it, he rephrased his question to the nurse instead. "Will he be able to wake up if he has a dream like that if you give him something?"

"I don't know." Paige answers honestly. "I know you want me to tell you he'll have sweet dreams, or even no dreams at all, but I honestly don't know. Even if he has bad dreams, though, he still really needs to sleep. His blood oxygen levels haven't come back quite as good as we'd like to see them, which tells us that maybe his lungs aren't as strong as they should be…"

"I didn't know anyone expected them to." Micky said quietly, frowning. "He's had pneumonia and…"

"I know." Paige smiled, hoping to reassure him. "His doctor has talked to all of us at length about the health challenges your friend has faced recently. And you're right, up to a point. None of us expect him to be at a 100 % yet. We're all more than a little concerned, though, that if you take that, combined with the recent physical trauma, then top all of that with last night's setbacks, it all adds up to a much longer downtime unless he does this right. And according to Doc Parsons, downtime is not this one's forte."

Micky nodded. He knew that. "We'll talk to him." He promised her.

"Good," Paige responded, heading toward the door. She paused there and turned back to them. "If he's really been having recurring nightmares for that long, maybe someone should talk to him about them. It could be that he's got some things going on that a professional might need to help him through."

"No," Davy protested quickly, knowing how much Mike hated talking to people about his feelings. It just wasn't his bag, and he'd never consent to talking to a stranger about them no matter how bad things were. They'd need to handle this themselves.

"We'll talk to him," Peter agreed. "It would be better if we helped him with it."

Paige shook her head. "I don't know," she told them. "If he's been having the nightmares that long…"

"We didn't know about them," Davy replied, shooting a vaguely accusatory look at Micky. "Now we do."

"He didn't want you to know," Micky answered Davy's glare. "He didn't even want me to. When he found out I did, he asked me to keep it to myself. He said he'd handle it and he didn't want anyone else worrying about it."

"We're worried about it now, " Peter admitted as if there were a doubt.

"If ya'll will just be quiet now and let me get on with tryin' to sleep, I promise we can talk about it in the morning," Mike mumbled sleepily.

Paige almost laughed as each of the boys wore matching 'busted' expressions on their faces. "Sounds like a plan," she offered to them.

"I guess we can do that," Peter blushed.

"I hope so, 'cause I swear y'all yammer more than old women at a quiltin' bee." Mike grumbled with a smirk, opening one eye to peer at the others. "That's a lot of yammerin', in case you're wonderin'."

"Thanks for clearing that up," Davy giggled.

Micky gave the others a wicked look, grinning as he asked, "I didn't know you quilted, Mike?"

Mike huffed softly, though a hint of a smile touched his lips. "Well, Shotgun, I 'magine there's a whole lot you don't know 'bout me yet."

"Regular man of mystery, then, huh Mike?" Peter joined in, causing Paige to roll her eyes.

"Don't encourage him," she scolded the others. "Or he'll never go back to sleep."

"Us men of mystery don't really need sleep," Mike confided with a wink in mock-seriousness. "We just do it to appease the common men. Let'em think we're more like'em."

Paige laughed, appreciating this unexpected side of the quiet Texan in spite of herself. "Well, we commoners appreciate it. We'd appreciate it even more if you'd get back to the afore-mentioned appeasement."

"Yes, ma'am," Mike smiled. "I'll get right on that."

The other three exchanged amused looks, then settled back down on their cots.

"Goodnight, Mike," Peter said softly.

"Goodnight, Pete." Mike replied, smirking as he realized right away where this was going to go.

"Goodnight, Mick," Davy chimed in, giggling.

"Goodnight, Davy," Micky grinned, closing his eyes. "Goodnight, Pete."

"Goodnight Micky," Peter smiled, risking a quick glance at the nurse still standing in the doorway before adding quickly, "Goodnight, Davy."

"Goodnight, Peter," Davy's giggles overtook him, his body shaking with mirth as he sputtered, "Goodnight Mike."

"Goodnight, Davy," Mike smile broadened, even as he shook his head. They were really going to do this?

"Goodniiiiight, Miiiiike," Micky sang, biting his lip in an effort to contain his own laughter.

"Goodnight, Mick," Mike reluctantly answered, rolling his eyes as the others did exactly what he expected them to do.

The three on the cots lay down flat, closing their eyes and pulling their blankets up to their chins before calling out in perfect harmony. "GOODNIGHT JOHN-BOY!"

Paige exited the room, turning her eyes heavenward in a silent plea for patience as, still smiling, she surrendered, closing the door between the herself and the giddy laughter of all four of the current occupants in room 217.


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter 17. I Do Believe I've Had Enough_

_"I think Ely's done, RJ," seven year old Mary called out, pushing her dark bangs out of her large tea-colored eyes and smiling at the toddler who grinned merrily up at her, covered in smashed pinto beans and rice. "He wore most of it, though."_

_The tall, rail-thin eleven year old boy standing near the sink, washing the hands and face of a smiling five year old, laughed. "I'll get him cleaned up next. Just wanna get Christian to bed first." He laughed harder as the little guy he was cleaning up began to protest. "no…no bed…wan' play, RJ."_

_RJ picked up the protesting boy, tickling him until he giggled, and headed toward the tiny little bedroom they all shared, calling back, "You go on and finish gettin' Ethan fed so's we can get'em all to bed, Mary. Wanna get things settled down 'n cleaned up 'fore ma gets home."_

_Mary nodded, turning toward the second of the tiny little twins. When RJ returned to the room, she asked him, "What're we givin' Jen when she wakes up? I think we're outa milk again."_

_"I boiled down some rice into rice water for her, there on the back 'o the stove. It's got a little sugar in it, so she'll take it good enough." RJ shrugged, picking up the food covered toddler, who promptly wrapped his legs all the way around and linked his feet together behind the painfully thin older boy. "It'll have to do for t'night. I'll get goin' early t'morrow and find'er some milk first thing."_

_" 'kay," Mary agreed easily. She knew well enough that if RJ said he was going to do something, it got done. _

_"Wan' milk, RJ," the toddler in his arms told him seriously. "Pwease milk?"_

_"Tomorrow, kid," the pale skinned, raven haired youth promised the squirming little one gently. "You can all have milk tomorrow. Now gimme those hands, you."_

_The tiny one laughed, waving his hands wildly. The older boy smiled softly, shaking his head as he captured both hands easily in one of his own, his long slender fingers easily encircling both tiny wrists. "Now, that's enough o' that, you. Gimme those hands." He settled the toddler on the drainboard, holding his wrists with one hand and washing him up with the other. "There now, will you look at that? There's an Ely under all that food," he said in mock surprise, prompting another wave of giggles from tiny tot. Once he'd cleaned him up, he gathered him in his arms again. "Back in a sec for Ethan." _

_The door to the little wooden house opened to admit their worn and weary looking mother._

_"Hi, ma," Mary called over her shoulder, smiling. "Ethan's 'most done eatin'. Want me to get you somethin'? RJ set some beans 'n' rice back of the stove for you."_

_RJ paused in the doorway to the bedroom, turning back toward the main room. "Hey, ma. You're early." He said softly. Ma arriving before shift was over was never a good sign. When she didn't say anything in response to either of them, instead standing still regarding each of her children with a mixture of sadness and resignation and something he couldn't place, RJ began to worry. Something didn't seem right. He shifted Ely to his hip, turning so that he was effectively between the toddler and their mother. "Ma?" he asked carefully. "Is everything okay?"_

_Slowly, their mother nodded. "Fine, RJ. Everything's fine. We're just…we're going to leave here tonight. All of us. God said it's time."_

_"What …" the youth began nervously, clearing his throat carefully, then continuing. "What do you mean 'God said'?"_

_"We're done here," his mother said quietly. "He doesn't want us to live like this anymore. He said we're done."_

_"Where are we goin', ma?" Mary asked as RJ whispered to Christian as he entered the bedroom. _

_"Come'ere,Buddy," he told the five year old, kneeling to look him in the eye. "Remember our drills?"_

_Christian nodded. He remembered. Sometimes RJ would lift them each and put them out the window so they could run to Mr. Dooley's. They were supposed to do that anytime Uncle Robert came over drunk. "Is he here?" he whispered, his eyes wide with fear. _

_"No, but I need you to do it just like we practiced anyway, okay?" RJ swiftly lifted Christian out the window, passing the toddler out, settling him on his feet, then passing out the baby to the five year old's open arms. "Hold her careful, now. Ely, hold Christian's pocket like I taught you."_

_ He kept looking back toward the room where their ma was, still in her worn-out winter coat, even as he spoke to his little brother. Something wasn't right. He couldn't put his finger on it, but a sick feeling was growing in the pit of his stomach and he knew it didn't have anything to do with the meals he'd missed. He knew he was right to be afraid when his ma answered Mary's question._

_"God wants us to come home, Mary." Ma replied, shoving her hand into her coat pocket. "We're going home to God tonight. All of us."_

_ "Run next door to Mister Dooley's. Hurry." He whispered to Christian, turning quickly. " Tell'im ma seems down again and we need some help over here. Go on, now, be quick…"_

_"But, what about you and Mary and Ethan? Come with us, RJ. Please?" Christian begged. "I'm scared."_

_"I'll be right behind ya," RJ assured the little one, reaching out and ruffling his hair, then going back to where Mary and Ethan still were, closing the door between them before heading toward his mother._

_"We are home, ma." He told her as calmly as he could in response to her disturbing answer to Mary's question. "All of us. We're right here." _

_"No, baby." His mother shook her head slowly. "Not anymore. God doesn't want us to do this anymore. He doesn't want any of us cold and hungry and broke and sick anymore. He wants us to be somewhere where we can be warm and happy and healthy." Her eyes grew bright with tears. "Look at you. You're too young to always look so tired. And you're so thin. You shouldn't be so thin." She sobbed. "Nobody should ever be that thin."_

_"It's fine, ma. I'm fine. So what if I'm skinny? I always been skinny, you know that. It don't mean nothin'." The boy assured her gently, even as he gestured quickly for his confused looking little sister to take Ethan and go to the bedroom. "Go on," he urged her. "Take 'im to the other room. Ma and I are gonna talk now."_

_"I need to wash him up first, RJ. He got 'most as much food on him as…" Mary protested, having no real understanding how much danger they were in._

_"Later," RJ hissed, moving to try to put himself between them and their mother as that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach threatened to undo him. "Just take him to the bedroom, now, Mary. Go."_

_"They're fine, RJ," Ma said softly, drawing her hand from her pocket, and the small handgun with it. "We're all going to be just fine. After tonight none of us will ever want for anything ever again. Nobody does without in heaven." _

_"MA, NO!" RJ screamed, running to toward Mary and Ethan, trying but failing to get there before the bullets could touch them. He skidded on his knees to a stop beside them, drawing the fallen forms of first Mary then Ethan into his arms. "No no NO…" he sobbed before turning toward his mother angrily. "WHY? Why would you do this?" He held up Ethan's lifeless body. "WHY?"_

_"God said…" his mother began, pointing the gun at him. _

_"BULLSHIT," he cried, setting his brother's body gently aside and storming toward her. "Don't tell me God told you to, because no God I want anything to do with would ever tell a mother to MURDER her own CHILDREN, Ma."_

_She blinked, looking as if she'd just been slapped. "Murder? No, I didn't…I couldn't…" she replied as her son stopped in front of her, the gun now level with his chest. "I …I could never …" her eyes stole over to where Mary and Ethan lay still upon the dirt floor, their eyes staring unseeing at the leaky old wooden roof._

_"Give me the gun, Ma," RJ said, holding out his hand, his tear-filled gaze locked with her own."Please. Before someone else gets hurt." She seemed to consider it a moment before shaking her head and slowly raising it to aim it at herself. "no, Ma…please, don't, please…just…" He reached slowly toward the gun. "It's okay, Ma. It's gonna be okay…just gimme the gun, okay? Please…"_

_The madness seemed to have left her completely as tears coursed down her cheeks. She whispered sadly, "I love you, Robert Michael…" _

_"Ma, please…" the boy pleaded. Whatever he would have said next was drowned out by the deafening sound of the next gunshot …_

Mike's eyes flew open, his breathing coming in staccato gasps. _Slow it down,_ he told himself silently, much as he always did when he awoke that way. _Just breathe. _He drew a slow deep breath in and blew it out, trying to get himself together as quietly as he could.

He closed his eyes again and continued to breathe slowly a few moments, listening in case Paige was in the room, much as he had since her 2 am visit. He wasn't interested in tempting the nurse to sedate him 'for his own good', knowing full well what locking him in on himself like that would mean. He'd be stuck in his own head, unable to wake. Unable to escape. He wasn't about to risk that. Finally certain that she wasn't in the room, he opened his eyes again, stealing a glance at the other three in the room, hoping he hadn't awakened any of them. To his relief, Micky still snored softly on the cot to his left. Davy murmured something unintelligible on one of the cots to his right, presumably to whatever girl he was dreaming about. Peter, however, blinked owlishly back at him from where he laid upon the third cot.

"Good morning, Michael," he offered softly, his expressive eyes filled with concern for his friend.

"Sorry if I woke you," Mike offered, still trying to get himself under control. _Don't ask me,_ he silently begged. _Please just let it go, Pete._

Peter shook his head. "I don't mind. Are you okay?"

Mike suppressed the groan that threatened. He really didn't want to do this right now. Granted, he had told them he'd talk to all of them about the dreams in the morning. He sort of hoped, though, that they'd find other things to talk about instead and maybe, just maybe, he could avoid that particular topic for at least a little while longer.

"I'm fine." Mike answered softly, once he was sure he could control his voice. "Go on back to sleep, Peter. We'll talk in the mornin'."

Peter sat up and yawned. "Technically 6 o'clock is the morning, so we could talk now."

"And technically Davy'll sleep another 2 hours easy and Mick don't get up before ten on his best day, and I'd rather wait on them so I can just do this once 'stead of havin' to keep repeatin' myself, you dig?" Mike replied irritably, reaching around for his notebook and pencil. "'Sides, 6 am for me is fine. I'm always up this early. You, though, will be bitin' heads off by noon if you stay up now, seein' as you didn't get to sleep 'till so late. So just…hand me my guitar, then go back to sleep, okay babe?"

"You said we'd talk about what keeps waking you up…" Peter objected as he handed Mike his guitar.

"Thanks," Mike said, taking his guitar and proceeding to make certain it was in tune. "And we will. We'll talk. Hell, we'll probably talk more than any of us ever wanted to. I mean, It's not like I'm goin' anywhere. We'll talk. You can all discuss it to death if you want, just not until you've all slept enough not to be growlin' at each other. "

"You're avoiding talking to me." Peter pointed out sadly.

Mike sighed, shaking his head, picking out a soft tune in the hopes of distracting them both. "I'm not avoiding it, Pete. Not exactly. I just…I already told you guys pretty much all there is to it and it ain't somethin' I'm all that hot on revisitin' when I can help it. I said I would, and I will, but I don't want to do it three different times, you dig? Pretty sure once'll be more than enough."

"Your mom?" Peter asked sympathetically. "Is that it? You dream about…what you told us about the other night?"

Mike rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Most times. Look, Pete, man , can we just hold off on this, please? Seriously, just…just give me until the other two are awake so I don't have to keep on doin' it over and over, 'right?"

"Maybe talking will help, though." Peter offered. At Mike's look of doubt, he continued, "I mean…I have bad dreams sometimes, and I always come and get you so you can help me," he waited for Mike to nod, letting him know he was listening, before going on, "You always get up and talk to me and you always have me tell you about the dream and then when I start getting scared again remembering it, you always remind me 'Slow it down, babe, just breathe. It's just a dream.' Remember? Then you say 'It's not real. It can't hurt you.'" He colored slightly noting how Mike smirked at his impression of him. "Well, so maybe if you talked to me, and I listened like you do, then I could remind you that it's just a dream and…." His voice trailed off as his brow furrowed. "Except yours is real. That's the problem, isn't it? Yours isn't just..."

"It isn't anything anymore. I mean…you were right to start with. It is just a dream, Pete. It's over and done and can't nothin' be done to change any of it so there's no use fussing over it all now." Mike replied quickly, trying hard to get them through this conversation and on to almost anything else before he completely broke. "It ain't no different than your dreams. It's just another dream, and can't nothin' from it come out at me and hurt me now, so there you have it. All hashed out. You said all I needed to hear said. Nothin' more to talk about. Thanks, babe. "

"But it happened. Does it ever change in your dream? Can you , I dunno, get the gun? Or …" Peter wondered.

"No," Mike sighed, biting back his frustration. Why couldn't he just let this go for a few more hours? "It happens just like it happened, okay? She comes home, I know somethin's wrong, but I'm not fast enough or smart enough or brave enough to do what needs doin' and…" He swallowed hard, refusing to get emotional. "… nothin's ever gonna change that. I still failed'em and …and that's that….so can we just…move on now?" Holding up a hand to forestall Peter's gentle protests, Mike turned his attention determinedly to his guitar, desperate to keep his cool and not fall apart again, saying, "Look here, Shotgun, I think maybe I'm just about talked out now, okay? So just…I don't know…read your comic book, or…or go get something to eat…or go back to sleep awhile, or somethin'. Okay?"

Mike couldn't look at Peter, knowing that the blonde's eyes would be filled with some combination of hurt and pity that he couldn't take just then. He flinched under the unwavering gaze of his friend, feeling far too exposed. Tuning his guitar quickly, clearing his throat as he began picking out something more complex, something that would require his attention, if only for the excuse it provided him to stop talking. He couldn't keep doing this. He desperately needed to go for a walk, or drive somewhere. He needed to get out of there and away from all the pity and fussing and digging and talking. He needed to breathe. He knew in that moment that there was no way he could stay laying around there too much longer no matter what anyone said. He needed to get back to how it was supposed to be, with him just doing what needed doing while the others did all the talking and feeling and needing. They'd make their music and, in between, he'd step up when they needed him to in order to make sure they were all safe from whatever got in their way and threatened to mess them up, including themselves on occasion, and then fade back to the background where he belonged. That he could deal with. Supporting the other three he could do. Sure. Easy. Gladly. But not this. He couldn't do this sort of thing, where he was suddenly expected to talk about a past that could only leave him drowning in pity or blame or some unrelenting combination of the two. He'd been through all of that before. He'd rather be shot a hundred times than risk the pain of that again.

"It's okay, Michael," Peter said quietly after several long moments of silence between them, wherein the blonde seemed to puzzle out Mike's reactions and reticence for himself. "I understand." He lay back down on the cot with his back to Mike, trying to give him some semblance of space in the small room.

"No, good buddy, I'm pretty sure you don't," Mike said softly, though only after he knew Peter'd gone back to sleep. Blinking back tears, he whispered. "And I pray you never do."


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter 18. And though my path is planned, it's not rehearsed_

Davy woke up and rubbed his eyes, frowning at the sight of the empty hospital bed.

"Um…Micky?" Davy called out to the drummer. "Did you hear anyone come in here?"

"Nope. I was sleeping," Micky answered as he rose, yawning. "Why?"

"Mike's not here," Davy answered, rising and padding in stocking feet toward the hall, looking up and down the corridor for the missing guitarist. "Pete?"

"I didn't hear anyone come in." Peter told the others, his expression troubled as he rose to help search. "Maybe he's in the bathroom?" He moved to the washroom, only to find it empty. "You don't think Maria's husband came in here while we were sleeping and…"

"Nah, Pete, Mike would have raised the alarm if he was in trouble, don't you think? They probably just wheeled him down for tests or something." Davy assured him, trying to calm himself as well.

Peter wondered why Mike would have taken his guitar down for tests, but didn't voice that question out loud. Instead, he went to look in the closet, only to be joined by Micky moments later. "Davy, you don't think Mike would have just left on his own, do you?"

"I don't think he could have," Davy frowned. "Not with as much pain as he's been in. Why?"

In answer, he held out the empty bag that had held the guitarist's clothes and boots. "Because if he didn't, then either someone stole his clothes or they've got some scary moths around here."

Davy groaned, shaking his head. "Let's go find him. He can't have gotten too far."

Micky nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets, then stopped. "Um…actually…maybe he could have."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

Micky checked all of his pockets, then looked under the cot. "Wherever he is, I think he's got my keys."

"You must be joking! Why would he do that? " Davy demanded.

"Well, it is his car," Peter offered in what he thought was a reasonable explanation for their friend's actions. "And you never know. Maybe he had something important he had to do."

Micky turned slowly to face the blonde. "Like what?" he asked, though he was admittedly afraid of what the answer might be.

"Maybe he had to meet someone." Peter offered reasonably, holding up a crumbled piece of paper he'd picked up off of the floor and smoothed out to read.

Davy looked over his shoulder to read it as well, his eyes going wide. "Mick, listen to this. '… I'll be at Maria's waiting for you. Come alone. Don't make your friends pay for your mistakes.'

"…he's gonna get himself killed." Micky blurted, already halfway out the door.

Doctor Parsons had just arrived at the hospital and headed to the elevator to go up and check on his patient when the doors had opened to reveal the young man dressed in his street clothes, complete with denim jacket, wool hat, and guitar slung across his back. He looked ashen and a little sick to his stomach, leaning against the back wall, blinking hard and breathing deeply in an effort to keep to his feet.

"Looks like you're a little turned around, son. Come on back up with me and I'll get you settled back in." Parsons offered gently. He'd need to talk to someone up on the second floor about how his patient had managed to get himself dressed and just walk out past them unchallenged when they were supposed to be watching him closely - it wasn't as if the boy didn't stand out - but first he needed to get him back up to his room where he belonged. He reached out to push the button to the second floor, but the younger man was faster, his long slender fingers pressing and holding the button to keep the elevator door open. "Come on, now. This is not the time for a battle of wills, but if it were I can pretty much guarantee you I'd win this one."

"Not today, Doc," Mike quietly disagreed, stepping out into the lobby and heading for the exit.

"Son, all I have to do is wait you out. If you're in near as much pain as I'm guessing, you're going to lose the battle to stay on your feet shortly. Then I have one of those orderlies over there bring me a gurney and I take you back upstairs under that wonderful loophole known as implied consent. You're in a hospital, in need of medical assistance and unable to speak for yourself, being unconscious, so I can assume by your presence that I have your consent to treat you." He held up a hand to forestall the young man's argument. "Or you let me get you settled into a wheelchair right now, we'll park ourselves in the waiting room over there and talk this out like two rational adults. Your choice."

"Not this time," Mike answered softly, moving toward the exit. Doctor Parsons gestured for a nearby orderly to grab a wheelchair and follow.

"Where are we off to?"Doctor Parsons asked in a conversational tone, checking his watch. How long could it possibly take for them to notice they were missing a patient?

Mike shot him a look of disbelief. We? "I'm not sure where you're headin', but I got to get some air, so if you'd just go on and let me be awhile I'd appreciate it." Spying the Monkeemobile, he lengthened his stride, exhaling sharply as he struggled to put some distance between himself and his friends while he still could.

"You don't really think I'm going to let you wander off on your own in the condition you're in, do you?" Parsons smiled, speeding up as well. "Me and Ricky here'll just be coming along for the ride. Say hello to Michael, Ricky."

The orderly, waved halfheartedly as he practically jogged along with the wheelchair in an effort to keep up with the long-legged Texan.

"I have to go alone or …" He shook his head, knowing that if he actually said it out loud Parsons would never let him go. What choice did he have, though?

"Or what?" Parsons prompted, waving Ricky back a little ways. The man looked relieved, but kept pace as well as he could without crowding the doctor and his patient.

Mike shook his head. "It don't much matter," he sighed.

"Michael!" Peter called out as he and the others flew out into the parking lot. "WAIT!"

Mike swore softly as he fumbled the keys out of his pocket with shaking hands, trying to get the door unlocked before they caught up.

Doctor Parsons reached out a hand to stop him. "It might matter to them, son."

"They're the only part of this that does matter, don't you get it?" Mike demanded in exasperation, leaning dizzily against the side of the car.

"No, we're not," Davy disagreed as they ran up to the car. He held out the crumpled paper. "You left this where we'd find it."

Mike nodded. He'd expected they'd find it. He just hadn't counted on them finding it so quickly.

"You wanted us to stop you." Davy concluded, placing a hand on his arm, still holding the note in the other.

"No, Tiny, I wanted you to call the police and send them where I'd be so that maybe they'd actually catch the son of a ..." Mike disagreed, not bothering to look at the note. He remembered all too well what it said. Doctor Parsons looked from the note to his patient.

"Why didn't you call them yourself?" Micky asked. "Why all of this?"

Peter eyed Mike critically a moment then moved to take the wheelchair from the uncomfortable looking orderly. Doctor Parsons smiled at the young blonde in clear approval. He had his own questions, but he wasn't going to ask them yet. Not when his friends seemed to be doing such a fine job on their own.

"Didn't seem much like I had much choice. I needed to make sure he'd be there and that they caught him this time. It's not just Maria and Lucy he's talkin' 'bout comin' after now, it's…." He halfheartedly waved Peter off, opening the car door and sitting down there instead of in the wheelchair. "He's threatenin' my family now. I can't just lay here and let him come at all of you."

"But we're supposed to just wait here and let you hand yourself over to the man who shot you?" Davy frowned as he pulled himself up onto the hood of the car. "That's not a very fair thing to ask."

"I know and I'm sorry, but I still don't see much choice, so just… hop back on down now so I can finish this," Mike said, pushing the key into the ignition. Micky reached across and plucked them out again, pocketing them quickly. "Dangit, Mick, this ain't no time to get cute…" Mike protested, trying to grab them back.

Micky smiled sweetly. "I'm always cute." He offered in an effort at levity.

"He's got a point, Michael," Peter grinned, patting Mike's shoulder.

Mike couldn't help but smirk, even as he put his head down on the steering wheel.

"When did you get this," Davy asked, finding himself unable to join in the teasing. He just wasn't finding all that much in their current situation to laugh about.

Mike didn't bother looking up. "Last night." he answered softly.

"Wait? When?"Micky looked dumbfounded. "I don't remember anyone coming in except the nurse and the…"

"It came in on the dinner tray. Folded in the napkin." Mike spared Micky the trouble of trying to puzzle it out.

"You didn't think you should have shown it to us then?" Davy sounded hurt.

"So you knew you didn't plan on being here when you agreed to talk to us this morning." Peter asked, sounding very disappointed.

"I figured we'd talk this mornin', then I'd work on slipping out when you all went to grab somethin' to eat at first, but it started gettin' later and I just couldn't risk him decidin' to make good on his threat." Mike assured Peter. "I'm sort of hopin' we'll still have plenty of time to talk when this is all over."

Peter nodded, accepting that.

"If it was one of us, you'd rip us a new one for keeping something like this from you, you'd never let us go it alone. You'd remind us that we're in it together and that we'd find a way out of it that same way." Davy turned an accusatory look at Mike. "When did the rules change?"

"They ain't any different than they always been." Mike disagreed, raising his head at last to look at Davy. "We're family, and we stick together, but when it comes down to it, I'll do whatever I have to…"

"I know, I know, you'll do whatever you have to do to keep us safe. Well guess what? So will we." Davy spat as he climbed into the car. "You don't have the market cornered on caring, Mike. Like you said, we're family, and we are not going to stand by and watch our brother get himself killed."

Micky and Peter didn't hesitate. Pete climbed in the back beside Davy while Micky nudged Mike. "Scoot over, big brother." Micky told Mike. "I'm driving."

Parsons gestured toward the second row of back seats. "Let's go, Ricky."

"But sir…" Ricky looked confused.

"No way, Doc," Mike interjected, reaching back to bar the way with one long arm. "There's no way I'm lettin' you…"

"I'm not asking, son." Parsons said, climbing in under the guitarist's arm. "I already told you, I am not just letting you wander off in the shape you're in."

"I'm managin' just fine, now why don't you and Ricky there just go on back inside," Mike protested, looking to the other three for help, though not at all surprised to find it withheld. Ricky took that as his cue to go back to work. The doctor, however, just set his bag down on the floorboard at his feet.

"Managing just fine, are you?" Doctor Parsons challenged. "Tell me, how long did it take you just to get up and get dressed to start on this little trek of yours?"

"Just shy of an hour," Mike admitted reluctantly. "But most o' that was me tryin' not to wake up these three, so…"

"And trying not to black out…." Parsons prompted.

"And I didn't, so …," Mike scowled. Seeing he was getting absolutely nowhere, he finally just gave in. "Fine, just …buckle up." He fixed them each with a stern look. "If you're all comin', you're gonna do this my way."

Davy, Micky and Peter exchanged triumphant grins as Mike slid gingerly across the seat to let Micky take the wheel.

"I'm serious, now." Mike told them, shaking his head with a smirk. "Pay attention." Once he was sure he had their complete attention, he outlined his plan. "Here's what we're gonna do…"


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter 19. But then there comes a time in every man's life_

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Davy sighed as the Monkeemobile made its way up Beachwood Drive.

Mike shifted again in the front seat, trying desperately for a position that was at least a little less uncomfortable. "Honestly, I'm not either, but it's the best we got." He admitted quietly. They pulled into the driveway of their beachhouse and, with the exception of Mike, unloaded quickly. "Just remember to warn Mr. Antonelli. I'm hopin' it won't come to it, but if it does I don't want to be leadin' trouble into a restaurant full of people."

"It might be better if you did," Micky offered nervously. "They're less likely to start shooting if there are too many witnesses around."

"I don't know," Mike tipped his head back against the seat, closing his eyes and absently rubbing his temple. "Someone who'd point a gun at their own kid ain't likely to think twice before shootin' someone else's. Better not to risk it if we don't have to. Davy..."

"Mike…I really don't think you should do this. There were three cars there," Davy pleaded. "You don't know how many people are in there waiting on you."

"I'm with Davy on this one. There could be a lot of people with guns in there for all you know." Micky agreed quickly.

"Please, Michael," Peter looked down at his feet. "I'm really scared."

Mike peeled his eyes open again reluctantly, opening the car door. He paused a moment, considering his answer before finally simply admitting softly. "Me too." He moved to drag himself up out of the car but was halted by Davy's hand on his shoulder as Micky and Peter both came around to the passenger side of the car.

"Let your friends help you, Michael." Doctor Parsons urged him gently. Instead of arguing as he normally would, Mike just nodded, hissing softly as Micky and Peter help him to his feet as carefully as they could.

"Mike, you can't do this. Look at you. You're…" Davy began again, only to be cut off by the inspector who appeared to have just come out of their pad.

"Finally," the inspector growled, "You made it. What took you so long?"

"What took him so long?" Doctor Parsons answered in disbelief. " What took him so long, sir, is that he is supposed to be laying in a hospital bed recuperating from having been shot by the man you're supposed to be trying to catch without endangering civilians or asking them to imperil themselves by leaving a hospital against their doctors advice to try to do your job for you!"

"Yes, well, lucky for him you'll be here to patch him back up when he's done, then, isn't it," the inspector replied, seemingly unfazed by the man's reproach.

"Sorry for interruptin', but can we just get on with it, please?" Mike asked irritably, brushing dark hair out of his eyes as he leaned against the side of the car.

"Why can't you just go in and arrest him," Davy demanded of the inspector. "Why does Mike need to be here?"

"We've been watching the woman's house since her husband escaped. So far we've got several members of the Sandoval family there waiting for you, young man, but Louis himself hasn't arrived. " The inspector began briefing Michael, ignoring Davy's outburst entirely. "We think that they'll probably try to take you to him. Don't worry. We'll be right behind you. Once they're all together, we'll move in. This is probably our best chance to shut down the Sandovals we're ever going to have. Just tell them what we told you to and we'll handle it from there. Why don't we go inside and get you wired up so we can do this."

"What if they don't take him to Louis? What if they decide they're just going to make him take them to Maria and Louis never joins them?" Davy asked angrily, stepping between him and Mike to make certain he wasn't ignored.

The inspector eyed the diminutive young man as if he were a new specimen of some kind he'd never seen before and wasn't sure he approved of. "Then we go to Plan B. Nishwash - "

"Nesmith," all four Monkees intoned at once.

The inspector droned on," - will take them to the secondary location we agreed upon and we'll pick up everyone we can there. After that, we'll take your friend into protective custody until Louis is caught."

"WHAT?!" Peter, Micky, and Davy all asked at once.

Peter turned to Mike desperately, throwing his arms around tightly the taller boys slender waist before Mike's gasp reminded him of his injuries. "I'm sorry," Peter said quickly before looking up at Mike sadly, loosening his hold around the taller boy's waist but not letting go. "They're going to take you away?"

"No, now that part's news to me, too, Babe." Mike patted Peter's back in an attempt to comfort him. "Far as I know we all already agreed I'm not goin' anywhere."

The inspector's eyes narrowed. "Young man, there have been a few developments since we spoke last night."

Mike held up a finger to forestall the questions from his three friends, knowing he had a lot of explaining left to do, but needing to hear what the inspector had to say now.

"Your uncle made bail. This took place shortly after the major players in the Sandoval family arrived, and he's in there with them now. Obviously he's got some ties to them whether you do or not. We're fairly certain they brought him with them now to make certain we didn't try to send in anyone in your place. " The inspector eyed the boy, watching carefully for any sign that he had been less than honest with him before, but found that, beyond cringing slightly when he heard his uncle had been released, and a clear but quickly hidden expression of fear when told that the man was in the house they were now asking him to walk into, he merely listened intently to the remainder of his information." With your help, we can shut down the Sandovals once and for all and put your uncle away with them for good."

Mike nodded, closing his eyes and trying to regroup so he could somehow do this.

"He's already tried to kill you once, Mike, you can't go in there, please!" Davy pleaded with his friend. Micky and Peter quickly joined in, all trying to dissuade him

"Guys, please," Mike sighed softly. "I don't see where there's a choice. I do this, they gun for me. I don't, they gun for all of us. It ain't any safer for any of us if I don't do it." He looked up at each of them, begging them to understand. "I wish I could just say no. I really do. Believe me. I don't want to do this anymore than you want me to. I just don't see a choice."

"Let's all go inside a minute," Doctor Parsons told Michael, eyeing him critically before taking his bag from the car.

"Yes, lets." The inspector agreed, completely ignoring the intent behind the good doctor's suggestion, clapping Mike on the back hard enough to cause him to stumble forward, trying to urge him onward, "We can get you wired up and ready to go. Think we can hide the wire under his bandage or something like that, Doc? We don't want them finding it and just shooting him outright, right?"

Micky, Davy, and Peter all moved to help keep their friend from falling as they renewed their objections upon hearing that. Overlapping choruses of "You can't do this.", "Mike, man, just please ." and "Please, Michael, just tell them you can't, please."

Mike paled further at the thought of them doing as the inspector had just suggested, then sighed, looking around at each of his friends. Finally, he just shook his head and made his way inside, having nothing he could think of to reassure any of them, including himself.

"I wish I could be there to see their faces," the inspector grinned as he followed the protesting chorus in the tired looking Texan's wake.

Once inside, the doctor pointed to a chair. "Sit down, Michael."

"I need to just get ready and…." Mike began.

"I said, sit down." Doctor Parsons repeated sternly. "Now. You," Parsons turned to one of the uniformed officers as he set his black bag upon the nearby table and opened it. "Get him a glass of water."

"I don't need…" Mike began quietly.

" Let me be the judge of what it is you need right now. Settle back, and let's have a look at those stitches." Doc Parsons eased him back against the cushions.

"Look, Doc, I appreciate this, but I really just want to…" Mike tried again.

"If you want any hope of getting through this, you'll hush now and do as I say." Doctor Parsons instructed him quietly but firmly. "Your friends are right. You shouldn't do this. But I understand why you are, and I'm willing to help on the condition that you do exactly as I say when it comes to your health from now on. This has to be the last time I find myself arguing with you about what you need to do. Understood?" He accepted the silent nod he got in return as a promise this time, understanding his patient wasn't at all in a chatty mood. "Now, lets see those stitches"

Mike rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, while the other Monkees huddled together, trying to think of a way out of this for their friend.

Parsons was as gentle as possible under the circumstances, knowing how much pain the boy was likely already in. "you're seeping a little, but that's not unusual. I'd rather put a fresh pressure bandage on this, though, just to be sure you're not going to bleed through."

Mike nodded, his head tipped back and his eyes closed.

"Headache?" Doc asked as he applied the fresh bandage.

Mike shrugged, breathing deeply, a thin sheen of sweat upon his brow.

"Alright, hurry up there," the inspector ordered the doctor as he approached them again after talking to one of his officers. "We need to get him wired up and over there while the Sandovals are still gathered and waiting."

"Hey, don't rush him." Davy spat. "He'll get himself killed doing your job for you soon enough without you pushing him out the bloody door."

Peter flinched. "Davy, don't say that." He begged. "Mike's not going to …to get himself…you know. He's not. He's going to be fine. Right Mike?"

"Sure thing, Shotgun," Mike agreed, though his voice sounded weak and strained.

"Of course he will. He'll be fine. He's Mike and Mike's always fine, right? Right!" Micky babbled desperately. Except he hadn't been lately, something in the back of Micky's brain reminded him, causing him to turn away, his eyes suspiciously bright, as his fear overcome him and frighten Peter even more.

Parsons finished the bandage then reached into his bag and took out a series of pill bottles. "Alright son, here's what you're doing. You're going to take what I hand you without question or argument." He dispensed pills from different bottles and began handing them to Mike. "For pain." He said handing Mike the first. "For nausea." He said, handing another. "For infection."

"This is a lot of pills, Doc," Mike frowned as the doctor continued handing him pill after pill.

"That's what the IV was for, son. You didn't think we were just rehydrating you, did you, much as you really needed that too after losing all that blood?" Parsons replied. "Now take all of those, drink that whole glass of water please, and use those inhalers there. You're going to have to be able to move and breathe without passing out from the effort."

"Good thinking," the inspector agreed. "I doubt they'd take him to Louis if he passed out."

Doc Parsons frowned. There were so many things that could go wrong with the boy's plan, not the least of which being his strength failing him completely. At this point he was fairly certain that the young man was running on fumes and he wasn't sure how long he could ethically stand by and allow it, but he also understood that there wasn't going to be anything short of sedating him or letting him run out of steam and pass out on his own that would stop the boy from going through with this.

"So what's the verdict on hiding the bug in the bandage?" the inspector asked the doctor.

"Well, that depends. How well does it work when saturated in blood?" Doc Parsons replied darkly.

Mike rolled his eyes and cleared his throat before suggesting quietly. "How 'bout the brim of my hat."

"You don't think they'll check in something that obvious? Nobody wears a hat like that anywhere, boy. They'll know right…" the inspector guffawed.

"Actually…sir…if they know Mike at all, they'll expect him to be wearing that hat."Micky admitted reluctantly to the inspector. "He always wears one. It would be weird if he didn't. In fact, one year we all got him new ones for Christmas because the one he wore all the time was getting kind of worn out from him wearing it all the time."

"Oh. I see. So your uncle wouldn't find it at all suspicious then. Brilliant, Nishbaum – " the inspector said loudly.

"NESMITH," all four Monkees chorused even louder.

" – brilliant idea." The inspector continued as if they hadn't said a thing, crooning enthusiastically. "Now let's go get'em!"


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter 20. Lingering And Still While Quietly They Tell Their All_

The moment the inspector left with Michael, the other three Monkees flew into action, though they tried to hide as much of it from the officers remaining in the pad as they could.

"Davy, go," Micky whispered, at which point the smallest member of the group ducked out of the pad to the beach.

Peter moved to Micky's side and told him, soto voce, "I called Mr. Antonelli. Everything should be set there."

Micky just nodded, taking a few bottles of different cleaning solutions and a large plastic bucket from beneath the kitchen sink. Setting the bottles into the bucket, he took the whole mess out to the Monkee mobile while Peter distracted the officers with nonsense questions. Doctor Parsons made a phone call as well, and then went out to sit in the GTO with his black medical bag at his feet. Now they just had to wait and pray that things didn't go terribly wrong.

Peter picked up a set of headphones off of the table where a couple of the officers where keeping tabs on Mike via the device hidden in the brim of his hat. His eyes went wide with both fear and surprise as he listened intently to the goings on in the other house before one of the uniformed officers reached up to take them back. Determined to keep tabs on his friend, Peter evaded the officers grasp by dodging underneath the table.

"Don't be childish, young man," the officer admonished, ignoring the snickering of his fellow officers. "Give me those headphones."

"No," Peter replied petulantly. "I have to listen."

"I can't let you do that." The officer said, climbing under the table in an effort to get them back from the young blonde, at which point Peter bound up and over the table, turning the volume up as loud as it would go. The other two officers each threw down the headphones they wore as they were attacked by the sudden onslaught of sound. Micky and Davy returned at that moment, quickly deduced the problem, and each grabbed a set of discarded headphones to find out why Peter was being so difficult as the blond turned the sound back down to normal levels. The officers became somewhat irate then and decided on a more direct approach. They each took on one of the young men, determined to catch them and retrieve the headphones in their possession. The three Monkees, however, were equally determined to keep tabs on their friend as more of his past came to light, and so they led the officers on a merry chase around, over, and under the tables upon which the sensitive listening equipment was set up until they heard the very thing that they were dreading most. The Sandoval's were taking Mike away. They tossed down the headphones then and dashed out the door to the Monkeemobile, leaving three officers inexplicably bound in twisted and jumbled headphone cords, unable to extricate themselves without assistance that was no longer there at the pad with them.

When Mike first entered Maria's house he was promptly slammed into a wall hard enough to make him see stars. An arm was placed across his windpipe, holding him against the wall, as a powerful blow was delivered to his abdomen. Before he could react, two burly men were hauling his uncle, struggling and bellowing in his efforts to get back at his nephew, to the other side of the room.

"Control yourself, Bobby, or I will have you removed." an older man with a thick Spanish accent warned before moving to assist Michael, placing a hand on his arm gently and helping him to his feet. "Forgive the rude welcome, RJ." He offered quietly. Noticing the young man flinch slightly at the long ago abandoned nickname, the man sighed. "Forgive me, Junior, I forgot. You no longer answer to this name, yes? Tell me, what would you prefer I called you?"

"Don't matter," slurred the Texan across the room drunkenly."Tha's his name…Robert, same as me…not Michael…little shit don' like it, too bad…don' matter none at all."

"Hush now, Bobby." The elder Mexican admonished. "Of course it matters." He nodded toward a chair in front of him, which Mike was quickly pressed into by two younger males as the older man insisted. "Sit down, Michael . You don't look well."

"You don't say," Mike deadpanned breathlessly, still blinking away the blackness that threatened on the edges of his vision, his arms curled protectively around his abdomen. "Can't imagine why." He shot a murderous look in his uncle's direction.

The older man snickered appreciatively. "Still spirited. Very nice. It is good to see you haven't changed." At Michael's surprised expression the man laughed. "Come, Michael. Tell me. You must remember me, don't you?"

Mike looked closely at the older man, taking in the round features and gunmetal gray hair and frowned. He seemed familiar somehow, but Mike couldn't quite place him. After several long moments, though, his eyes widened. "Sandy, right?" he asked tentatively. "You worked for my grandfather, didn't you? You were a mechanic… the lead mechanic, right? You worked in his shop, I think."

The man smiled, inordinately pleased that Michael had remembered him in that way. "That's right. I worked at the shop. I remember you used to come in and sweep up after school, when you bothered with your classes at all. Sometimes you even helped with the repairs. You were very good. Very bright. Such a shame you could not get the education you should have had. You could have gone so much farther than this."

Mike blinked in surprise. He hadn't ever done much more than basic tune-ups and minor repairs unless they were really shorthanded, and nobody had ever called him bright back then. Most of the time, nobody called him anything at all. It was as if he didn't exist. But then, that's how most people treated mistakes, wasn't it? As if they didn't happen? Except Sandy. He'd been kinder than most to Michael, occasionally even sharing food with the painfully thin youth, scolding him when he'd try to take it home to his siblings instead of eating it himself.

"_You'll be no good to them too weak to work anymore. Now, eat." Sandy would say. "Your mama needs you to stay strong for her. She needs you to be the man of the house, RJ. They all do."_

Sometimes he would even press a coin or two into the boy's hand, allowing him to provide in some small measure for the others. He'd taught Michael to read and speak Spanish, pleased how quickly the boy had taken to the language. He'd encouraged Michael when the boy had started teaching himself guitar after his grandfather had given him a battered old six string acoustic for his tenth birthday. And always he'd urged Michael to keep learning. Keep studying. Where nearly everyone around Michael had predicted he'd be a failure, Sandy alone insisted Michael could be more.

"You stayed on after Gramps passed on, right?" Mike asked him, trying to comprehend why he would be here now and why his memories of him would matter. The headache he'd been trying to keep at bay since he boarded the elevator at the hospital began to throb in earnest now, worsened by the greeting he'd received, and he reached up with one hand to rub his temple absently, the other remaining wrapped around himself tightly.

Louis was supposed to be here, not his uncle, and certainly not another ghost from his past. It made no sense that he'd be more willing to face that lunatic with a gun again than this man asking him to remember, but there it was and it was all he could do now to resist trying to flee.

_Remembering hurts more._ His mind whispered.

"That's right. I worked for your uncle and your father when they took the shop over, too." Sandy gestured to someone behind Mike. "Before we go any further, I'm going to ask Paulo to check you over. Do you remember my son, Paulo?" Mike shook his head, prompting the older man to glare hard at Robert before turning his attention back to Michael and answer in a surprisingly sympathetic tone. "I thought you might not." He nodded to the taller of the two younger men who'd helped Mike into the chair, who proceeded to search Mike for listening devices, though he was surprisingly careful and gentle in the search which only served to confuse Mike further. Once the search was concluded, Paulo looked toward his father and shook his head. He hadn't found anything.

"Do you remember anything else, Michael?" The old man prodded, kneeling before him. "Think hard, now. This is very important."

Mike shook his head slowly, his brow furrowing as he removed his hat with one hand to run his other hand through his hair as he so often did when nervous or flustered. "Not really." He admitted at last. "I mean…I remember when Gramps passed. And when my father gave up his half of the shop to Uncle Bobby to head off for good. And when Ma…" he paused, his jaw tightening a moment before continuing. "I remember you were still there even after I got shipped back to live with Uncle Bobby again…" He shook his head.

The older man took Michael's hat from him, shooting another inexplicably angry look at Robert Senior. "You still wear these." He turned back to Mike and asked, smiling sadly. "This isn't the same one, the one little Mary knitted, though, is it?"

Again Michael shook his head, taking it back and returning it to his head. "That one's so worn out that the guys all got me new ones last Christmas. I think it was Mick got me this one." He answered, though he wasn't sure why these questions were being asked. "Still got the other, but it's pretty sad lookin'."

"When the sun or cold hits it, do you still have…" The older man began, but stopped when Michael shook his head.

"Not for five or six years now, since before my first roommate moved in." He answered. "Learned to keep up the hat habit after. Grew my hair out longer, too. It's pretty thick. Seems like together that's enough to keep it from gettin' overheated or over-cold or...well, it's enough to stop the fits, I guess, anyway." Before Sandy could ask another question, he asked, "Why all these questions? I mean, why are you even here? The note I got said …"

"I know what it said," Sandy answered, holding up a hand to forestall any other questions. "And I will explain, but first I need to know how much you actually remember about me and my family."

"About you…I knew you when I was a kid from the shop. Your family…don't recall ever meetin' em. Now, can we…" Mike closed his eyes tightly against the lights that seemed to tear through his head. "can we just get on with this…please."

"Emilio, give Michael your sunglasses," Sandy ordered, pressing them on the dark haired young man when he tried to refuse them. "Your head hurts. The light does not help. Put them on now."

"Don't you go babyin' that boy again," Uncle Bobby spat. "You always babied him too much…"

"You would rather I broke guitars across his back? Or crushed his hands with my boot heels until the fingers could no longer heal properly, maybe? Or perhaps you would rather I squeezed the air out of his lungs from behind until he passed out so that I could hurt him in far crueler ways without risking him fighting back? Or maybe, just maybe, I should just try to eliminate the problem I'd created altogether and just shatter his skull with a shovel then try to bury him even though he's still breathing, if only barely?" Sandy wheeled on the drunken Texan during this tirade, missing Michael's look of shock completely.

"Wait...what?" Michael sputtered softly as he heard the last allegation for the first time.

_Don't ask questions you don't want answered,_ that voice in his head warned.

"You and are a sick, pathetic coward," Sandy continued, though, having apparently not heard the young musician's question at all. "and were it my own child you had done such things to I would have killed you on the spot, but this one is not mine and for this you should be grateful. Such sins have a way of catching up to you, though. There are more than enough just here in this room who would gladly see you dead for all you have done despite your efforts on our behalf."

"I been your loyal ally," Robert protested. "I helped you set up shop in my own back room and make your fortune. You and your family wouldn't have ever got your little enterprise off the ground if it wasn't for my help and you're gonna turn on me now over somethin' that ain't got nothin' to do with you? You always was interferin' with the boy, and you had no right, Sandy. No right at all."

"You are a fool, and always were, Robert Nesmith, and I have very little patience remaining for fools." His eyes narrowed, "You may consider this your last warning."

"You never remembered?" Sandy asked in return, turning his attention back to Michael, his expression softening at the completely haunted look in the boy's eyes. "It's alright. I thought as much." He sighed. "But then your other memories of that time…they never returned either?"

Michael looked shaken. "Um…no…I, uh…I just kinda let it go." He tried and failed to collect his thoughts. Realizing that Sandy meant for him to elaborate, he went on, "They said I fell from the hay loft. Cracked my head on somethin' in the fall. Said Uncle Bobby dragged me off to the hospital'n they put in the plate to replace the shattered up part of my skull."He blinked; his more prominent drawl giving away more about his emotions at the moment than his expression or even the words themselves did. "Kept on tellin' me that till it stuck, I s'pose. I figure I got told most things a few times 'fore they stuck that year 'fore I started catchin' on again."

"Yes, you did," Sandy replied in a voice filled with genuine sympathy "I brought some of my own up from Zacatecas to help take care of you until you were stronger. I feared your uncle might tire of tending to one so gravely injured and try to finish what he started. My son Paulo was thirteen then. The same age as you were. He was almost a constant companion for you at the time, making certain you weren't overwhelmed or further injured until you were fully capable of taking care of yourself again." He gestured for the young man who'd searched Mike earlier to step forward. "You really don't remember him at all?"

Mike looked intently at him for several long moments before shaking his head slowly. "No. Sorry. I don't."

"That is alright, Michael." Sandy sighed, patting Mike on the shoulder, noting that he flinched again at the contact and wondering if, perhaps, the boy might yet be allowed to live long enough to come to welcome such contact someday. If he truly remembered so very little about him and his family, it might still be possible, if only rest of the family could be persuaded and the other loose ends they'd come to take care of could be tied up. "Wait here, now. I need to talk to the others for a moment."

Michael tipped his head back, closing his eyes tightly against the images threatening on the fringes of his memory. He knew, of course, that there'd been more to how he'd been injured than he'd ever been told. After all, accidents never really were accidental when his uncle was around and there was no way the man would ever try to save his life if there wasn't someone else nearby forcing him to, so obviously that whole tale had been only a half-truth at best. Knowing that logically and genuinely remembering it, though, were two totally different things. Somehow it had been easier to accept so long as he could always keep those images at bay. His thoughts were interrupted a moment later.

"It is time to take you to my nephew, Louis," Sandy announced, nodding to Paulo. Before Mike could so much as open his eyes, he felt a needle sinking into the side of his neck. Mike jumped, startled, and tried to pull away, only to find himself held firmly on either side by two strong pairs of hands. "Don't fight it, Michael. Just relax. It's better this way. It will be far less painful for you to simply sleep than it would be to ride the whole way bound and blindfolded in your current condition. Trust me. We'll awaken you once we arrive."

Anything else that might have been said was lost, as he was, to the blackness that enveloped him.


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter 21. Where You Go, I Will Follow_

Micky surprised the others when, upon reaching the Monkeemobile, he tossed Peter the keys. "Just follow whichever car they put Mike into, but not too close. This car sticks out like a sore thumb anyway, so we're probably gonna get busted, but we don't want let them catch on too soon."

The moment he was done talking he started doing something even more shocking. He reached under the dash and began tearing down Mike's beloved radio.

"Micky?" Davy blurted out in shock. "What are you doing? Mike's going to kill you!"

Still working with the wiring, Micky ignored the irony of that statement and replied, "Radio waves. That wire in Mike's hat is transmitting on a very specific frequency. The police equipment is set up for it automatically, but the radio is going to need some help if we're going to keep track of what's going on."

Davy smiled in relief despite his fear. Thank goodness, he thought, for Micky's interest in science. They needed to find that frequency so they could hear what was happening with their friend. "You think you can really do it, then? You can make it so we can hear them?"

As if in answer, the radio static faded, replaced by the sounds of thickly accented voices.

_"Be careful with him," _a young sounding baritone directed._ "Here, hand him in to me. Gently. Good, easy now. Now, give me the seatbelt. I want him belted in." _

Someone chuckled before replying,_ "So many precautions for a corpse, Paulo."_

"He's not a corpse, don't say that," Peter blurted out before Davy could put a hand over his mouth.

"We're kind of close for yelling, mate." The dark haired Englishman whispered urgently. The trio all stared at the radio, waiting anxiously. Behind them, Doc Parsons sat quietly, listening for any hint that his patient was actually in distress and trying hard to place a voice he knew he'd heard before.

The sounds of pushing and protesting preempted any reply the young baritone might have attempted.

_"Squeeze on over there," _Bobby's voice slurred._ "Just gonna slide on in…"_

_"No, Bobby," _Sandy's voice answered._ "You'll ride with Julio this time. I need to speak to my son privately. You understand." _

Bobby's voice faded, spewing slurred curses until it was gone.

_"Help me belt him in,"_ the young baritone directed again. This time nobody argued.

The boys all breathed a sigh of relief knowing that someone was still at least trying to protect their friend.

The sounds of shifting, seatbelts and car doors could be heard for several long moments. From where they boys were, they could see the people piling into the three cars. After a moment, where someone leaning into one car moved off to another and the sound of someone shifting into the car before closing the door was accompanied by the sight of it, they identified which car Michael was in.

"That one there, Peter. Follow that one." Davy directed anxiously, pointing at the sleek black sedan pulling away from the beach house before them. "Don't get too close, but don't let it out of your sight."

Peter nodded nervously, following at a distance, wary of being seen. Doctor Parsons made no sounds. Instead, he listened closely, his brow furrowing as something struck him about the younger speaker.

_ "You don't have to be here, Paulo," _the voice of Sandy came in over the radio after several long moments._ "You've never been involved in any of this before. You are respectable, not like the rest of us. You should go back to your life and let us handle this now. I can have our driver drop you off anywhere you'd like to go."_

_"I'm not going anywhere, father. Not unless he is dropped off with me." _Paulo growled shortly._ "I'll be here as long as he is."_

Sandy sighed._ "You might not like how this ends. Bobby's brother, Ren, is waiting with Louis, and I do not doubt how he will support putting the boy down."_

_"He's not a rabid dog, father, he's a person. And a friend." Paulo chastised quickly._

"That's right," Davy spat at the radio.

"_Ren is no better than his brother." _Sandy went on as if Paulo hadn't interrupted._ "He was married to RJ's mother, but was overseas when she became pregnant with the boy. She was an emotionally fragile girl, and he knew it. He used her terribly, twisting her until she was broken over and over again, then leaving it up to the boy to try to put her back together again each time. Before Bobby had him, RJ lived with his mother and brothers and sisters. He had an actual family. They didn't have much, but at least they had each other, and the boy seemed happy enough with it until Ren destroyed all of that."_

_"How? And why? Why would he do that?" _Paulo asked in a voice so quiet they almost couldn't hear it.

The boys wondered that as well. They'd heard about what happened, but Mike's version hadn't mentioned anything about his father.

_"He got his wife fired from her last job by starting an argument with her at work. He kept going on and on about how she'd failed as a wife and as a mother until she just fell apart. Then he helped her buy a gun on her way home." _Sandy answered. The boys listening in recalled the tale of how that night ended, but Doctor Parsons eyes narrowed as he heard it for the first time._ "That night she murdered two of her own children then took her own life. I'm not sure how the others were spared, but I know that Ren blamed Bobby for it. He wanted to be free of all of them and RJ somehow prevented that, which made it Bobby's fault, since Bobby is the boy's real father."_

Micky's eyes were round as saucers as he heard that last bit of news. Mike hadn't mentioned his father's part in the story at all, or his real relationship to the man for whom he'd been named. Did Mike even know, he wondered? Exchanging a look with Davy, it was clear that he wondered the same thing.

"No wonder the uncle still only rates second least favorite behind the dad," Doc Parsons commented.

"Pete, back off," Micky cautioned quickly, noting as they approached a red light that they were getting close enough to be noticed in the sedan's rear view mirror. "They're going to catch on if you don't keep enough distance."

"I'm sorry," Peter responded, biting his lip nervously. "I'm trying, but the other cars aren't staying where I need them to be."

Davy frowned. "Maybe you two should switch places at the next light." He suggested. Both nodded. Maybe they should.

_"Bobby was always depraved and cruel to them, Paulo. That wasn't new. He was sick in the things he would do, especially to RJ." _Sandy told his son in the same detached manner one would discuss the weather._ "He wanted that boy dead before he was ever born so that the rest of his family wouldn't know how he'd taken that girl against her will. When they found out, he lied and made her out to be equally at fault, but they all knew. All but Ren, anyway. He was never sure if he'd been betrayed by one or both, but he punished them both just the same. It all but ruined the relationship between those boys, and both blamed RJ for that, too. The child never had a chance."_

_"Was he ever really a child?" _Paulo mumbled softly, listening to more of his old friend's history.

_"No, I don't suppose he was," _Sandy agreed.

Micky found himself wondering the same thing as he listened. He could remember long days playing around with friends, riding bikes and playing swords. He'd leave in the morning with a kiss upon his cheek from his mother and come home to a warm hug and a good meal. Had Mike ever once had any those things?

"Why can't they just pull over and let him out?" Peter implored as he changed lanes, nearly cutting off another car as he tried desperately to keep the sedan in his sight. "If he cares as much as he said he did, then he could just let him go, couldn't he? Mike won't say anything to anyone. He never says anything. He's good at keeping secrets. He keeps them from us all the time."

"They could, Pete," Davy agreed, ignoring the rest of Peter's outburst and the honking horns around them as well, too focused on what they were hearing from the radio to note much else. "But they won't."

_"But that won't mean anything now." _Sandy continued, confirming Davy's conclusion._ "Louis is angry, and wants someone to punish for his failures, and Ren never wanted the boy alive to begin with. You can't think either will truly support sparing the boy now."_

_"So I should just accept that? I shouldn't even try to convince them, is that what you're telling me?_ _You think I should just turn my back and walk away now like you did?" _Paulo's incredulous voice accused._ "You knew what Bobby was doing. What they both did. Obviously, from what you've said today, you knew for a long time before you even bothered calling on the rest of us. You could have stepped in at any time, but you didn't bother. Instead you dragged us all up from our home only after you let them almost kill him and then try to bury him alive. You waited until he couldn't so much as feed himself or speak his own name to help him. Why?"_

_"He was not my child, Paulo. I did what I could. I gave him food when I had it to spare. I tried to encourage him when I could, but you have to understand. He wasn't mine." _Sandy defended weakly, as if that should have been enough_. _

_That only seemed to further infuriate the young man. "He and I are the same age. Are you saying, then, that were I not yours you would accept such treatment for me as well, Father? Are you really so cold and cruel?"_

_"We were just starting out, your Uncle Ernesto and I, Paulo." _Sandy explained._ "We needed Bobby and Ren to help us establish ourselves and our market. When I found them trying to bury the boy alive instead of getting help for him, I snapped. I admit it. I had long since become fond of the boy and I wanted to rescue him, but it almost cost us everything, Paulo. I couldn't risk trading that one life for the security we were trying to achieve for our family. I still can't."_

_"You cared enough for him to bring us all up here with you." _Paulo reminded him in angrily._ "You convinced all of us to care enough to devote almost an entire year to seeing him put right again."_

_"I felt I owed him that." _Sandy confessed quietly.

_"Then what changed? Why did you just sent us back and wash your hands of him again, and how could you expect us to do the same, as if we could all just turn our feelings for him on and off the way you do?" _Paulo demanded._ "How could you do that? It was cruel! You didn't just let him think he'd be safe for that moment. You made him believe someone cared." _

_"It was a mistake, Paulo. I am sorry. I should not have interfered." _Sandy admitted.

All three boys cringed at the statement. If Sandy truly felt that way, there was little chance he'd make such a mistake again.

"No wonder he doesn't trust us to take care of him." Peter whispered. "He's already been through that once already."

"It wasn't us, though." Davy argued. "We'd never turn our backs on him and leave, no matter who told us to. And he doesn't remember them, remember?"

Micky swallowed a lump in his throat. "Pete's right, though. You almost left us once because your family demanded it. Remember, Davy? It's not so different. He knows we all have family of our own. Eventually, we could all just leave him like they did, I guess, then he'd be all alone. If he lets himself count on us completely, then it'll hurt when we leave for good. I mean… just think about it…"

"But I didn't leave then." Davy protested. "And if we've gone home to visit since, we've always come back. We'll always come back."

"It may not matter what we would do," Peter intoned sadly. "Not if we can't help him out of this."

Silence fell among them as each was consumed by their own fears.

Parsons continued to hold his peace, only continuing to listen closely. Unlike the boys, he hadn't quite given up hope yet. Having recognized the voice of the younger speaker, he knew full well that the attempts to persuade Sandy to change his mind weren't over yet.

_"NO!" _Paulo shouted in response to his father._ "Sending us back without him was the mistake. Making him stay there with nobody to protect him from those sick bastards after all he'd been through was the mistake."_

_"It doesn't matter," _Sandy snapped._ "I will plead his case to Ren and Louis, but if they choose not to spare him I will not interfere again."_

_"Then I will." Paulo declared. "I didn't come to this little family gathering of yours today for Louis or Uncle Ernesto or even for you, father. I came for him."_

_"He doesn't even remember you,"_ Sandy chastised quietly. "_He doesn't appear to remember anything about us beyond the actual shop. You would be turning your back on your family for a virtual stranger. He doesn't know you."_

"_WHOSE FAULT IS THAT?"_ Paulo demanded.

_"Paulo, this isn't about him. He's not RJ anymore. I can't let myself think of him that way, and you shouldn't either. I'd like to save him, and I will do what I can for him, but in the end I can't risk going out on a ledge for him. Our place is too precarious as is it." _Sandy sighed. _"He's a loose end, now. It's possible I can convince the others to spare him, and I intend to try, but it's far more likely that I can't. Even if we ignore what Ren desires in this, it is still up to Louis to decide."_

_"Why?"_ Paulo demanded. _"Why is any of this up to anyone else? You don't have to take him to them. You don't have to help Louis anymore. You could just let RJ and Maria and the child all go. You yourself said that Maria doesn't know enough about the bigger picture to hurt anyone but Louis. You could just let the authorities catch him, and spare three innocent lives instead. You should. You know you should. Nobody else should die for his stupidity."_

Micky and Pete quickly unbuckled to switch places during the last of that exchange, but were forced to buckle in again quickly as the light changed green before either could move.

"It's okay, Pete," Micky assured the blonde as he pulled reluctantly forward again. "You're doing fine." He resumed staring hard at the radio, then, reminding himself to find hope in Paulo's statement.

"That's right, Paulo," Davy cheered on the young stranger on the radio, too focused to note the failure to change drivers. "You tell him!"

_ "You're not part of this, Paulo,"_ Sandy pressed again. _"This isn't your business. It never has been. You're a doctor. Go be a doctor. You've served your purpose here, making certain we could take him to your cousin. Leave the rest of this to those who it actually affects now."_

_ "Have you been listening to me at all?" _Paulo argued._ "This does affect me. Whatever happens to him will affect me. I didn't do any of this so that you could hand him over to anyone else. When you told me you had Lupe put that note on his tray, I came to the house in case he showed up, but it wasn't to help you. It was to help him. I remembered how far he'd go for a friend even when he could barely do for himself, because you made sure I saw it firsthand. I knew he'd show up even though he shouldn't for the same reason you did. You threatened those he loved. I made sure he could travel, but it was only so that I could return him to the hospital where he should be. Please, father. You've seen him. You've spoken with him. He isn't a threat. He's just a bystander. Again. You asked me to protect him once. I'm asking you, protect him now. I'm begging you."_

_"And I'm begging you, Paulo. Please. Walk away." _Sandy countered, an angry and dangerous edge now clear in his tone.

_"Fine. Agreed. I will walk away and never look back, but only if I take him with me." _Paulo stipulated, no less angry than his father._ "You can pull over right here and let us both out. I'll find a cab and you won't have to worry about either of us again." _

"Please…" Peter whispered as if in prayer. "Please, please do it. Please."

_"I can't," _Sandy answered sadly.

Peter let out a strangled sob.

_"Wake him up." _Sandy ordered then._ "We're almost there. If you want a chance at changing minds, they'll need to be able to talk to him themselves. It's a small hope, but it's all I can offer."_

_"I can't wake him, father, I told you that when you first suggested sedating him. Every new chemical you put in his system you risk doing more harm than good, especially in his condition. The things they could do to his heart rate and his blood pressure..." _Paulo argued._ "If I give him any sort of stimulant without knowing what was already given to him before the sedative, I risk killing him."_

_"And if you don't, they'll kill him for you. If you want any hope of him staying alive, you'll wake him up." _Sandy demanded._ "Now."_

Parsons began shuffling through is bag then, itemizing it's contents quickly.

They could hear Paulo cursing for several long moments before he said,_ "There. Give it a minute." _After a short span of time, he called gently._ "Michael. Wake up. Wake up, Michael," _They could hear the light sounds of skin against skin._ "Mike…open your eyes... Come on, Mike. Open up. Look at me."_

A soft groan sounded, equal parts pain and fatigue.

_"That's it. Easy, now. Open …good. Good morning," _Paulo offered gently. _ "No…Breathe, Mike… slowly. Come on, nice and deep."_

They could hear Mike cough weakly then gasp. Parsons shook his head at the sound, frowning into his black bag.

_"No, I know…just breathe, Mike…come on. Look at me. Look at me. Breathe in. Slowly, now." Paulo directed softly but sternly. "Good...okay, good…there you go."_

"Thank God," Micky whispered, slowly releasing the breath he'd been holding. The sound of both Peter and Davy exhaling as well told him he hadn't been the only one. Parsons just kept exploring the content of his bag, though he was clearly still listening as well.

_ "Sir,"_ a voice they didn't recognize chimed in then, alerting them that they might have yet another thing to worry about. _"I think we're being followed."_


	22. Chapter 22

_Chapter 22. My Race is Nearly Run_

"Quick, Pete, turn here," Micky directed. "Right. Go right."

"But we'll lose them, and then they could do something else to Mike." Peter protested. "What if we can't find them?"

"We don't have a choice," Davy insisted reluctantly. "They noticed we were behind them. If we keep following them now they might decide to do something drastic. Now turn!"

As much as Peter was against it, he could see Davy's point. He turned the car, still fearful of the consequences.

"Don't worry, Big Peter," Micky consoled him. "The police are still following them, too. They're listening and recording everything that they say. They'll have enough on them by the time this is done to put them all away for life at this rate. And we'll listen for any hints where they might be, too. We're not giving up, yet."

Davy nodded his agreement. "Right chatty group, it seems, too. Someone's bound to let slip where they are."

"Assuming you're all quiet enough for us to hear it," Parsons chastised from the back seat, having apparently set his black bag beside him on the seat and turned his full attention back to the radio.

_ "Get him out and bring him inside, Paulo." _Sandy ordered as they arrived._ "I need to speak with Louis a moment." _

The sounds of various car doors and muffled voices drifting slowly away sounded for a moment before Paulo's voice was heard again.

_"You hid it in your hat?" _Paulo gasped. _"Brilliant. Father held it in his hands and still missed it there in the rim like that."_

The boy's exchanged panicked looks, realizing that the wire had been found.

_ "No, Mike, don't. Don't move. Not yet. Just breathe a minute." _Paulo cautioned Michael._ "It's okay. I'm not going to tell anyone. Just be still a minute."_

"Do you think he means it?" Peter asked the others, almost afraid to hope at this point. Nobody dared answer for fear of being wrong.

_"Now, whoever is listening, we've just stopped at the old dock master's office on Pacific Coast Highway near Keller's Shelter." _Paulo whispered urgently._ "I know he's wired. I know you're listening. He needs your help. Again, we're at…"_

Micky and Davy exchanged a look. Had he really just told them where they were? Was he really trying to help them? Doc Parsons merely smiled. He'd expected nothing less from the young resident.

"You heard him, mate," Davy urged Peter, who was already turning back toward the destination as Paulo repeated it.

"Um …guys…" Peter went wide eyed as the dark sedan behind them did the same. "Does that car behind us look familiar?"

The others turned around, then quickly back. "Circle the block," Micky directed, needing to be certain.

"Crap," Peter hissed as the other car circled the block with them. "Now what?"

"We do what Mike said to do if this happened." Micky sighed. "Head for Antonelli's."

Peter turned the GTO and drove, with their shadow in tow,toward the Italian restaurant, hoping that Mike could somehow lure the others there while Micky, Davy and Doc Parsons all turned their attention back to the modified radio.

_ "Paulo," _a new, more heavily accented voice called out_. "What's taking so long? Do you need help?" _

_"He is injured, Emilio. He shouldn't be moving around at all, but if he must, it must be done carefully." _Paulo answered irritably.

_"What do you need me to do," _Emilio asked. After a beat, he added,_ "Damn, he doesn't look good at all."_

_"What I need you to do is to drive us back to the hospital and let me help him," _Paulo replied almost desperately_. "He is injured. He shouldn't be here. Please. You remember him, Emilio, I know you do. You always said we should have stayed…"_

_"It doesn't matter what I said," _Emilio answered, sounding almost apologetic_. "Let me help you get him inside. They're waiting."_

_"Please, Emilio," _Paulo pleaded, only to be interrupted by Mike himself.

_"It's okay, Paulo," _he reassured quietly, his voice sounding strained. _"Let's just do this, okay?"_

Paulo sighed in quiet dejection_. "Emilio, get in on the other side and help move him toward me, then come back around here."_

_"I got it." _Mike groaned.

_"No, you will do only what you absolutely have to, and you will not argue." _Paulo snapped, before adding more gently._ "If you're going to do this, at least let me help you where I can. Emilio. Please. Bring him to me." _After a beat, he added,_ "No, bring his hat, too. Here, give it here. He needs to be wearing it." _

_"Why," _Emilio argued, clearly finding the request absurd._ "It isn't snowing in the room."_

_"It may still be too cold for him," _Paulo explained perhaps a little too quickly._ "It would not help him to have a seizure now."_

Peter drove on, cringing at Paulo's last remark, wishing they'd been able to do something more to protect their friend.

"Good answer," Micky congratulated the disembodied voice, hoping that Emilio bought it.

"A habit, he tells me…" Davy muttered, disheartened.

Micky looked at him, startled. "What?"

"I asked him once why he wore the hat everywhere. He told me it was a habit," Davy answered.

"Yeah, well, it sort of is. He did say he learned to keep up the habit when Sandy asked him earlier, right?" Micky pointed out, more than willing to forgive his friend's reticence on the matter. It wasn't as if he'd lied, exactly.

"He told me it reminded him of home." Peter said somberly.

None of them needed that one explained further.

"Do you think Emilio suspects the hat is wired?" Davy asked, trying to focus on the current issue.

Micky shook his head. "No. He'd have said something, I think." I hope, he silently amended.

"Maybe…" Davy began looking at the others. "Maybe one of us should double back after the bad guys behind us are settled in at Antonelli's. In case Mike needs backup."

"This plan is the backup, remember?" Micky pointed out. "The inspector is there. We're supposed to try to lure whoever follows us and keep them at Antonelli's until Mike gets the ones where he is to bring him there too, then the police swoop in and arrest them all together and we take Mike back to the hospital and he gets well and we all live happily ever after, see? "

"I hate this plan." Davy groused sullenly. "It all hinges on us keeping our followers seated calmly and fed and entertained while Mike tries not to get shot."

"Stop saying that," Peter begged. "I can't…I don't…I can't think of that. Ok. Please. I'm driving and I need to think and I can't think if I think of that because then my mind just keeps thinking that think over and over and I can't…"

"I'm sorry, Pete. Sorry," Davy attempted to calm the blonde. "You're right. It's going to be alright. Okay?"

Peter hesitated before nodding back, finally agreeing half-heartedly. "Okay."

The conversation halted again when they heard Mike's quiet gasp as the two with him helped him to his feet.

_"Take a minute. We're not in any hurry."_ Paulo urged, ignoring Emilio's frustrated groan.

"_Why is he shaking so much,"_ Emilio asked after a moment.

_"Gee, I don't know, Emilio. Maybe because our idiot cousin shot him?" _Paulo spat, eliciting a short bark of laughter from Micky despite the situation.

"Under other circumstances I think I could like this guy," he told the others.

Peter wasn't quite so amused, fixating as he was on Emilio's question. "Why is he shaking so much?" he asked Doctor Parsons, hoping he would tell him that it wasn't anything to worry about.

"It could just be a reaction to the stimulant Paulo had to use to wake him," Doc Parsons tried to reassure the young blonde, though he worried privately about the other possible causes for such a reaction.

"I don't like this plan," Pete mumbled miserably. "I do NOT like this plan."

"None of us do, mate. Including Mike." Davy reminded him, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Just remember, it's like Micky said, right? The Inspector was following them, too. For all we know, he's watching them right now."

"Right. He's probably getting ready to make his move any second now. Shoot, there are probably lots of other policemen watching, too," Micky told Peter, though whether it was truly to reassure the terrified blonde or himself he'd be hard pressed to say. "Let's just get to Antonelli's and set up. Mike's supposed to get them all there, remember?"

Peter nodded, trying to focus on the road instead of the radio, certain he'd end up a blubbering mess if he didn't.

"When we get there, Davy, Pete'll set up the instruments. You fill the water guns and balloons you got from those kids on the beach. Just remember, don't mix any of the cleaners in them, and make sure not to mix them up. Some of those can cause ugly reactions if you mix them together, like the ammonia and the bleach." Micky cautioned. "I'll make sure we can still hear what's going on while you guys are doing that."

_"Okay. Hang back a bit," _Mike's voice directed sounded far more tired than they'd ever heard it before. It was as if all the progress they'd made over the last few weeks were coming undone and all they could do was sit helplessly by as it happened.

Emilio sounded uncertain_. "If we let go you're going to fall. I've seen newborn colt's steadier on their feet than you look right now." _

_"Y'all can't be carryin' me in," _Mike's voice reminded him, a hint of amusement clear despite the pain. _"leastways not without a weddin' first." _

_"You are still a smartass, Stretch, no matter what you're calling yourself now," _Paulo informed the lanky Texan before instructing the other man_, "Just stay close to him, Emilio. Don't let him fall."_

_"Goin' in under anyone's power but my own ain't gonna help nothin'," _Mike insisted stubbornly._ "Y'all just hang back a little, now. Jus' lemme do this."_

The sound of a door opening and closing preceded Sandy's acknowledgement of his sons' entrance.

_"If it isn't the guitar teacher." _Another voice taunted almost immediately_. "You're not looking so good, Mister Guitar Man."_

_"Yeah, well Louis, all the lead in my diet recently don't much agree with my stomach." _Mike deadpanned.

A few random snickers floated around the room.

_"You think you're funny?" _Louis sputtered. _"Do you?"_

_"Not especially." _Mike sighed._ "Funny's Mick's job."_

"Come on, Mike, please don't piss them off," Micky pleaded, gripping the dash tightly. "It's really not a good idea to make the violent drug lords mad at you."

Peter could no longer stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks. "Is he trying to get shot?"

"He's trying to make sure they know he's not afraid of them." Davy whispered, feeling as if he were being suffocated by the fear he was feeling in that moment, but finding that he understood his best friend's motivation despite that. "It's the only way he can take back some of the control of the situation."

"But he is afraid." Peter pointed out, remembering Mike's admission when the first reached the pad.

Davy swallowed hard. "I know that. And you know that. But he doesn't want them to know."

_"Jus' keep on sassin' back y'lil shit," _a deep voice they didn't recognize spat._ "an' I'll shoot ya m'self."_

_"If y'had the balls t'do it yerself you'd'a done it b'fore, 'stead'a confusin' ma then pushin' a gun into'er hand," _Mike snapped, anger clearly winning out despite the pain in his voice this time. Again, snickers sounded around the room.

The sound of Mike's full on Texas accent alerted his friends to the fact that their friend was nearing his breaking point. The temper that he occasionally struggled to keep in check was dangerously close to taking over even in his weakened state.

"Oh God, that must be his father," Micky groaned. "Keep it together, Mike."

"Calm down and breathe, Mike," Davy prayed softly. "Just breathe."

_"Maybe we should test that theory," _Louis suggested._ "Here, Ren. Take mine." _The sound of a gun being cocked sounded loudly across the wire.

"No,"Peter choked, suddenly feeling as if he couldn't breathe. "Please stop him…please please someone…"

"Someone will," Doctor Parsons attempted to reassure the terrified bass player, though in truth he was no more certain of that than the boy's friends were.

Micky wondered then why the inspector hadn't moved in yet. What was he waiting for? Was he really going to let them kill Mike before moving in?

"Why don't they do something," Davy growled, unconsciously echoing Micky's thoughts.

_"Reck'n that means y'don'wanna know where Maria is after all, huh Louis?" _Mike asked, a hint of smugness in his tone. _"A'right, then. Go on, __**Dad**__." _The amount of venom dripping from the last word could have poisoned the entire room. _"Do it. Pull th'trigger. 'Less you've got 'nother 'motionally unstable wife y'd rather hand it to. Come on, DO IT YOU CHICKENSHIT SONOFABITCH!"_

"DON'T DO THAT! " Micky shouted at the radio, prompting Davy to put a hand on the drummer's shoulder, abruptly worried that all of the Sandoval's following behind them might catch on. Pushing the hand away, Micky whispered, "Is he really trying to make him do it?"

"I know, man. I get it. Just wait." Davy closed his eyes, silently praying things didn't go horribly wrong.

_ "Wait,"_ Sandy's voice echoed Davy's. _"Do you know where Maria and the child are, Michael?"_

_" 'Course I do." _Mike bluffed._ "Been hidin' out since the genius over there decided t'point that gun at the little one's head, makin' him only a little braver than you, __**Dad**__." _Again, the hatred was clear in Michael's tone._ "I told Maria I needed to talk to her, right after I got your note. Asked'er t'meet me."_

_"Where?" Louis demanded. "Tell us where and we might let you and your friends live."_

_"And you might not, right?" _Mike stated the obvious flaw. His voice was softer when he spoke next, so that those less familiar with him might assume he was less angry. Those listening in the red GTO, however, understood right away that this was Mike in full on leader mode, pushing his fear and anger down and focusing on the task at hand. He was solving a problem, pure and simple._ "It won't matter if I tell you or not. She ain't gonna show herself unless we play the right number to tell 'er it's safe. If the guys and I don't show up 'n play that song, she bolts 'n you lose her for good. Her idea. Said it was an insurance policy for both of us. If I don't show or I play somethin' else, it means it ain't safe for her to be there."_

_"What number?" _Louis demanded. _"What song?"_

Mike snorted derisively, then gasped, the pain threatening to undo him, which only seemed to make him angry all over again_. "Ain't like it's a jukebox, asshole." _Mike spat breathlessly at Louis_." 'less you got talents other'n pointin' guns at unarmed six year olds, ah doubt yer gonna manage it."_

Peter pulled the GTO into Antonelli's parking lot, then killed the engine – and the radio with it - but made no move to exit the car. Micky sighed, nudging the blonde lightly on the shoulder before climbing out of the car. "Coming Pete?" he asked.

Davy climbed out silently, looking pale and vaguely sick to his stomach at the thought of all they'd heard in the course of a single day that still wasn't over yet.

"We need to unload and go inside, boys, unless you want it obvious you're listening in." Parsons reminded them all as gently as he could, giving the barest of nods toward the sedan pulling in and parking opposite them. Reluctantly, Peter climbed out and they all began unloading the instruments silently.

"Relax," Parsons offered when they were all near enough that he could speak without risking them being overheard, "If we can't listen in with the officers inside, I'm sure we can find another radio for Micky to mangle, alright?"

That thought prompted them all to hurry inside, so that they could set up quickly and then find out what else was going on. Denied access to a headset in the banquet room where the officers had set up, Mr. Antonelli sacrificed one of the radios in his kitchen instead. They were all huddled around it, waiting anxiously for Micky to find the right frequency again when Louis' voice pointed out, "_You didn't bring a guitar with you. How were you supposed to play this mystery song without a guitar, eh Mister Guitar-"_

_"Call me that one more time, I swear to Jesus 'm gonna shove my boot up y'r ass," _Mike warned through gritted teeth, though there seemed to be a distant sound in his tone seemed to be winning out.

"Don't pass out," Davy pleaded with the mangled radio as if somehow Michael would hear him. "Please don't pass out. Remember what the inspector said."

_ "Michael, please,"_ Sandy's voice urged. _"Answer the question."_

_"My roommates took it on ahead with them." _Mike answered, obviously hoping that they'd followed the plan._ "They should be headin' that way and settin' up right now. If I don't show up and play, Maria knows to exit the way she entered and not look back, 'cept of course to share what she knows on that one there with the local constabulary."_

There was a long pause before Ren announced,_ "He's bluffing. Obviously. Anyone who knows him can see it."_

_"Guess that leaves you out, don't it __**Dad**__," _Mike answered coolly, the last word carrying no less hatred this time than it had the first, though the voice that spoke it was clearly weakening.

_"It would seem we have only one way to know for sure, don't we?"_ Sandy acknowledged sensibly.

"Dad?" Mister Antonelli asked, looking from one of the boys to another for explanation.

Micky patted his shoulder, his eyes still fixed firmly on the ruined radio before them. "I promise we'll explain everything when this is over," He assured the old man, having neither the time nor the stomach to rehash everything right that moment.

Mike's reply only served to further infuriate Ren._ "That's it, you sorry little…"_

_ "Put it down, Ren." _Sandy warned._ " Now. It would be a shame to have to shoot you."_

_"Do it and you'll lose your work and staging areas."_ Bobby warned smugly. _"You can't do anything with all that product 'less you got those, 'member? I'll kick your ass out'a the shop and the barn both if y'interfere with that boy again."_

_"Wait? That's what they're holding over you?" _Mike voice, though far more quiet than it had been previously, sounded genuinely shocked._ "They got y'all thinkin' the shop and the barn belong to them?"_

_"Shut up, boy," _Ren warned._ "I'll shoot you, I swear I will."_

_ "They do," _Bobby confirmed._ "We got conservatorship. It was all laid out in the will."_

_"shut up, you idiot," _Ren hissed.

_"What do you mean conservatorship?"_ Sandy's voice took on a dangerous edge. _"You told me that they were yours."_

_"And as soon as this insolent little shit is dead and buried they will be."_ Ren confirmed.

_"No, they won't,"_ Mike replied, sounding oddly distracted, his voice growing fainter even as he spoke. "_Will's done been made. The guys … they get …"_ _the thought seemed to trail off._

The boys exchanged stricken looks as Mike's voice fell silent.

"Oh no…" Micky whispered. "Do you think he passed out?'

"No. He can't do that. The inspector said he couldn't do that. I don't want his things," Peter informed the others, sounding almost panicked as he went on, "I just want Mike. He has to be okay."

Davy's voice trembled despite his best efforts to keep calm for the others. "He will be," He assured Peter, trying for a confidence he obviously didn't feel.

Micky wasn't fooled, however, and he wrapped an arm around each of his bandmates shoulders in an effort to lend comfort and support. "He'll be fine." He assured them as confidently as he could manage, grateful he sounded at least somewhat more believable in his attempt than Davy had.

"Of course he will," Doc Parsons agreed before turning to Mister Antonelli. "Where is your phone?" The elderly restaurant owner directed him with a gesture to the phone on the wall, looking as worried as the boys were for the young guitar player he'd become so fond of.

The sounds of movement could be heard for several moments through the radio speakers before Paulo's voice gently urged, _"Easy, Mike. Nice and easy. I've got you."_

_"Julio, get him a chair,"_ Sandy directed urgently. _"Emilio help him."_

The sound of scraping metal across linoleum could be heard for a moment.

_"Let's sit him down. Gently." _Paulo urged._ "There. That's it. Okay, Mike, look at me now, just breathe. Nice and slow, just like before. Emilio, hand me my bag." _After a beat, he barked,_ "Back up and give him room, dammit. You've all done enough damage."_

_"Ain't no point in botherin' with him now. We should just go wherever them Nancy-boy friends of his is and get that girl o' yours." Bobby urged to no avail, as it was clear nobody was listening to him anymore. _

_Ren seemed to realize that their position had become somewhat more precarious with Mike's revelation about the ownership of the shop and land their parents had left behind. "Hush up, now, Bobby. Don't be tellin' them their business now." _

_"Patch him together somehow, Paulo. We still need him to play this mystery song, don't we?" _Louis answered Paulo unconcernedly, ignoring the elder Nesmiths entirely.

Sandy's voice sounded surprisingly pleased, as he agreed._ "So it seems. In fact, we may have discovered a few new reasons to keep him alive." _Giving that thought a moment to sink in, he then directed,_ "Do whatever you need to in order to help him, Paulo. I need to radio Ernesto and Victor to find out where Michael's friends are. If he's telling us the truth, they should be set up their instruments somewhere, correct?" _

_"And…?" _Paulo asked distractedly, clearly as angry with his father as he was with the rest of the men in the room.

_"If this is true, then we will all need to join them there."_ Sandy stated as if it should have been obvious.

_"And if not?"_ Ren demanded, straining to find some remaining point of relevance for himself and his brother.

Sandy's tone darkened as he replied,_ "Then it is, perhaps, time to tie up all of our loose ends here and go home." _


	23. Chapter 23

_Chapter 23. A Very Extraordinary Scene_

The boys listened closely as Paulo allowed Emilio to help get Mike settled into the car but refused to sedate him again despite his father's insistence.

"_We aren't putting any other medications into his system for the moment_," Paulo declared unequivocally. "_We will stop on the way, however, at a diner and your driver will go inside and order a very large glass of juice and bring it to us_."

"_We are going to a restaurant, Paulo, there is juice there_." Sandy chided. "_You can wait until we get there._"

Paulo seemed to have no patience left. "_It is not for me, it is for Michael and no, it will not wait. He needs fluids now and I do not doubt the sugars in the juice would be beneficial to him at the moment. I don't need you to understand it. Only to do it."_

Sandy laughed. "_Yes, sir_." To the driver, he then barked, "_You heard my son. Do you need him to repeat it slower for you?_"

"_No sir_," the driver answered promptly.

The car continued on for a short while in silence before they heard sound of the car door opening. They waited as the long and uncomfortable seeming silence continued until a sharp intake of breath was heard.

_"Try to be still, Michael. I understand you are uncomfortable, but you really should try to minimize your movements. We're going to where your friends are. Just try to be still and relax as much as you can until we get there."_ Paulo assured the young guitarist before snapping, _"Don't touch him. You, with your threatening notes and plotting, have helped enough. We will get him to where his friends are. He can play or not as he chooses, assuming he is able by the time we reach the restaurant, and then he goes back to the hospital and you go straight to hell for all I care, but you do not touch him again."_

_"I realize you are upset over all of this, Paulo, and I'm very sorry,"_ Sandy attempted a conciliatory tone. _"But you have to understand…"_

_"I understand,"_ Paulo growled angrily. _"I understand that my father, the man I looked up to, the immigrant who worked long hours in an automobile repair shop to take care of us, is a fraud. Instead of being someone to look up to and aspire to become more like, he is nothing more than a drug dealer and a murderer." _Sandy tried to reply but Paulo continued talking, ignoring anything more his father might say. _"You convinced us that you were this upstanding, god-fearing man. You were our example; the proof that if he worked hard and persevered anyone could make it here. Don't you get it? I pushed myself so hard to graduate early and gain early admission and become someone you could be proud of all for you. Because I wanted to make you as proud of me as I was of you. You were my hero! And it was all a lie! I see you for who you are now and I am terribly ashamed to be known as your son. How many more atrocities did you ignore because they were inconvenient at the time? No, don't answer that one. I'm fairly certain you don't even know anymore."_

_"You would do well to drop this now,"_ Sandy warned.

_"Or what?"_ Paulo countered. _"Will you shoot me, too, father? How long before we all become more of your loose ends?"_

The conversation ended with the return of the driver. _"They had only mansana."_ He announced. _"Is that okay?"_

_"It's fine, thank you."_ Paulo replied. _"Here, Michael. I expect it to be finished by the time we reach the restaurant, which will be in…" _

_"Fifteen minutes,"_ the driver supplied helpfully.

_"Fifteen minutes."_ Paulo repeated. _"I will not allow you leave this car until it is finished, so I suggest you begin."_

_"Yes, mom,"_ Mike quipped tiredly, his voice only just above a whisper. Even that was enough to set the minds of those listening in somewhat at ease.

_"I did mention that you are still a smartass?"_ Paulo retorted in mock exasperation.

_"Yessir, I believe you did."_ Mike replied.

Parsons just nodded, checking his watch. "I'm going to see if I can't grab the table closest to where Michael will be, in case he needs support quickly. " Parsons avoided the question, knowing that there was nothing he could say that would reassure the boys at that moment.

"He'll be okay," Peter assured Davy, desperately needing to stay positive.

Micky just nodded. "Of course he will." He agreed, knowing that was what they all needed to hear. "Are we set?" he asked the other two.

"Yeah. I sort of color coded them by content." Davy answered. "Ammonia's in the blue squirt guns and the blue balloons. Bleach is in the yellow ones, and dish soap is in the red ones. So just remember, don't mix the blue with the yellow. "

"Okay, good," Micky told them. "Aim the dish soap the floor to keep them from running out or approaching the stage. Ammonia is our deterrent. Aim it directly at them."

"What about the bleach?" Peter asked, uncertain why they'd bring something so dangerous to mix with another thing they'd brought.

Micky turned an uncharacteristically serious expression toward Peter, "That's strictly last resort, Pete. Bleach can really hurt. If they're threatening you or Mike once we get him here and nothing else is keeping them back, you aim for any vulnerable spot you can think of, got it."

"I don't want to hurt anyone, Micky," Peter whispered, biting his lip.

"None of us do, mate, but if it's the only choice we have," Davy assured him. "It's strictly self defense, right?"

Peter nodded hesitantly, still not sure he could do it. Maybe he'd leave the yellow balloons and squirt guns to the other two.

"Mike's not in any shape to protect himself or us this time," Micky reminded him. "It's up to us."

Again, Peter nodded. He wasn't looking forward to this confrontation at all. "If the two accidently mix, though, that's not going to help Michael, either." He said at last. "And if we've already squirted them with ammonia, then one of us squirts them with the bleach…"

Micky and Davy exchanged a look. "You're right." Micky said at last. "Maybe we should leave the yellow ones for cleaning up at home." He moved them away from the rest to make sure nobody would grab them by accident.

"How are we going to make sure they don't leave if they do get out the door before the police round them all up?" Davy asked Micky, hoping he'd thought of this possibility. He didn't remember anything in Mike's plan or Micky's additions to it that covered that particular problem.

Micky thought for a moment, trying to think of what they might be able to do when something seemed to dawn on Peter. "Potatoes." The blonde blurted out, looking expectantly from one of his friends to the other.

"Potatoes?" Davy wasn't sure Peter understood the question. "How will potatoes help?"

Micky, however, laughed, clapping Peter on the back. "Brilliant, Pete. Perfect. Davy, go out there and keep their attention a minute," he directed the petite percussionist. "I'll be right back"

Davy hurried out onto the bandstand, "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Antonelli's. The specials of the day are minestrone soup and fresh baked garlic cheese bread, cheese tortellini in creamy alfredo sauce and spaghetti with Mister Antonelli's own handmade jumbo meatballs in rich marinara sauce. If that don't make you hungry nothing will. So if you haven't already placed your order, Mindy or Tracy will be right with you. We should be getting the music started here for you shortly." He spotted Micky returning from the kitchen out of the corner of his eye and nodded. "Thank you and enjoy the show."

"How did you know today's specials?" Peter asked, not remembering Mister Antonelli mentioning them to any of them, not that he was entirely certain he'd remember if he had.

Davy grinning, tongue in cheek before admitting, "I didn't. I just couldn't think of anything else to say and remembered that he almost always had plenty of those things. I hope he doesn't mind."

"I'm pretty sure he doesn't," Micky assured them. "He's too busy standing guard over the radio and finding a few more large potatoes for when the rest of them get here. Now come on. I doubt Mike'll forgive us if we're all out of tune when we start to play."

The three musicians filed onto the bandstand and set about their regular pre-set checklist , tuning the instruments one last time and doing a quick sound check before time to play. Peter picked up Mike's beloved Blonde Beauty and made sure she was in tune, wanting to limit the number of things his friend would have to worry about once he arrived and desperately needing to know he was doing something that might help him, no matter how small.

"Aww," a female voice protested. Davy looked up at the pretty red-head and her friends and smiled. "I thought Mister Antonelli said the tall one with the hat was going to be here today."

"He's on his way," Davy assured them, though he cringed inside at the thought of how many people were still here in spite of their earlier call. So much for minimizing the number of bystanders. "After we told him about all the pretty birds asking for him he snuck out of the hospital for all of you."

"The hospital!" the red head said, sounding alarmed, her eyes going wide. "I thought you said he was getting better."

"Had a few setbacks, he has." Davy gestured for them to come closer and whispered quickly. "In fact, the ones responsible for those setbacks are still hanging about wreaking havoc. When he gets here there will be a few goons coming along. We'll do our best to keep them back once we get him separated from them until the authorities can handle them, but if it gets hairy, we might need a few brave volunteers who can keep a secret to help get him back behind that amp over there and keep him down, you understand."

The girl smiled, nodding. "I think we can manage that." She replied, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. The idea of pinning the handsome Texan down didn't seem to bother her a bit.

"Just be careful with him," Peter warned, shooting a glare in Davy's direction, unable to believe he'd sick these women on Mike in his current condition. "He's already hurt, okay?"

"On don't worry," the red head's smile widened even more. "We'll be gentle."

Micky shook his head. "Maybe we better leave keeping Mike out of harm's way to Doc." He suggested, only to receive a furious glare from the girls for his efforts. Holding his hands up defensively, he backtracked quickly, "Just a thought. I mean, Mike's not exactly big on being touched as a rule. And he might not want to have you …" Realizing from their expressions that he wasn't exactly smoothing the situation over, he surrendered. "Just be careful with him."

Peter threw his hands up, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Mister Antonelli gestured toward them from the kitchen doorway.

"They're here," Peter told the others, wiping his hands on his pant legs nervously.

Outside, Paulo waited for his brother Emilio to join him so that together they could assist Mike out of the car. "As soon as he's finished that juice," he told his brother, "I'll need you to help me with him."

"I've got it, Paulo," Sandy offered, growing more than a little weary of his son's behavior.

Paulo glared hard at him. "We've got him." He answered shortly. He waited for Mike to finish drinking, just as he'd warned he would, and for his father to give up and go inside before stepping out of the vehicle."Just like before," he directed his brother.

"I can…" Mike began, only to be silenced by a look from Paulo. "Or not."

"Don't bother," Emilio whispered as he slid into the vehicle next to him so that he could render the requested assistance. "Once Paulo has made up his mind, there is no talking to him. In your case, it's probably a good thing."

Reluctantly, Mike nodded, honestly too tired to offer much of an argument anyway.

Peter, Micky and Davy all watched the door nervously, counting off the enemies as they entered and only daring to breathe when they saw Mike enter.

"You made it," Micky bound from the stage and almost ran to his friend's side. "We were starting to think you weren't coming. I mean, I know you said to meet you here, but you're late and you're never late. Come on." He took Mike's arm and positioned himself quickly between him and the older of the two gentlemen walking him in, hoping he was right about the younger one. "Come on, now, it's time to play and I know how you are about starting these things on time, right? Right!"

Mike looked at Micky as though he'd grown a second head as the drummer led him carefully to the steps and gestured toward a chair beside his guitar. "Mick, what're you…"

"Sit there now, and…"Micky picked up Mike's guitar and pressed it carefully into his hands, glancing over his shoulder at the members of the Sandoval family, and the elder Nesmith men as well. "There…now you're ready to…now we can…" he scurried behind his drums, noting with very little surprise that the younger Sandoval who'd accompanied Mike in had seated himself with Doc Parsons instead of joining his family, "we can play…now that you're here."

"Mick," Mike sighed, wondering how long Micky would continue rambling if he didn't stop him. "Just count us off, would ya?"

"Sure, Mike, sure," Micky agreed, wondering which, if any, of the patrons were police officers. "one, two, three, four," he counted. Peter hit the downbeat and they were off.

Patrons flooded the dance floor in front of the bandstand as Micky crooned the lyrics that seemed to make more sense now than they ever had. "There's just no percentage in remembering the past. The time has come to live again at last," he sang, wondering if Mike had selected this song on purpose to be the signal to the officers that their targets were all there.

Whether he had or not became rapidly irrelevant as the officers flooded in and someone among the Sandovals shouted. "We've been set up!"

"That little shit!" Ren cried, rushing the bandstand, seemingly intent upon reaching Michael. Peter, seeing this, grabbed a red water balloon and, positioning himself protectively in front of his friend, threw it as hard as he could at the man's feet. Dish soap spread everywhere. The man's feet went out from under him as he stepped into the slippery substance and he roared loudly as he landed hard and slid toward the where table Paulo and Doc sat. Paulo jumped up, raising the chair in Ren's way, allowing him to slide clear under the table, then setting the chair back down, effectively trapping the man beneath the table.

"Good aimin' there, Pete," Mike said to the blonde a moment before he was tackled to the floor then dragged behind his amplifier and pounced on and pinned to the floor.

"There," the red head proclaimed as she and her friends attempted to hold the squirming guitarist on the floor. "Just stay down. We're supposed to keep you right here."

"Wait? What? OWWW! Don't DO that!" Mike demanded breathlessly, blinking away the darkness threatening on the edges of his vision. "um…I don't think so…just…" he tried to wriggle out from under her, clenching his teeth against the pain in his side and the general discomfort of being pinned to the ground by four strange girls.

"We promised to keep you safe." A petite blonde informed him. "Just stay here and …oh my god…" she looked up to the red head then back to his stomach. "You're bleeding." She whispered. "guys, he's bleeding!"

"Pretty sure I knew that," Mike whispered back, squirming again. Quickly the blond moved back. "Popped a few stitches again, I think. Look, I appreciate the whole keepin' me safe thing, but see, this itty bitty little bandstand ain't safe enough for any of us if they start shootin'. We need to try to get everybody who isn't cop or criminal into the banquet room. Get'em in there and then lock the door and hunker down until they've got all the bad guys cuffed, got it?"

The girls nodded and moved back, allowing Mike to sit up carefully.

"Mike, get down," Micky hissed from behind his drum set.

"No, Mick, listen," Mike said quickly, pulling his faded denim jacket closed and forcing himself to his feet. "We gotta get anyone not involved in this to the banquet room."

Peter and Davy, meanwhile, had been throwing dish soap filled water balloons at anyone who looked like they might even think of approaching the bandstand. The result of this action was, of course, utter and complete chaos. Sandovals and police officers were slipping and sliding across the floor in the efforts to capture and evade. Davy giggled at the sight, despite the seriousness of the situation as Pete attempted to keep score, awarding a point each time one side knocked over someone from the other side.

"I don't know, Mike. So far it looks like we might be safer up here behind the amps then down there trying to get across that floor." Micky warned his friend, moving to his side and trying to coax him into sitting back down; an attempt that took surprisingly little effort as the Texan was dizzier than he'd ever admit.

"Mick, it ain't gonna work just settlin' down here and prayin' hard. They decide to get up here, holdin' me down ain't gonne keep anyone safe, either. They got real guns. You know, the kind with real bullets. We need to get something more solid between them and us." Mike demanded even as he sank to his knees, then sat heavily upon the floor, effectively hiding behind the amplifier again.

Micky kept a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Mike, I get it, but we can't risk you falling. We all heard Paulo telling you to try not to move more than you had to, and we heard Doc Parsons talking to you before that. We can't risk you passing out or ripping out stitches or anything again. That's why we set up these defenses for when you got here."

Mike turned his gaze to the balloons and squirt guns before raising a questioning brow at Micky. "Water balloons and squirt guns, though, Mick? Your plan to defend us all up here is water balloons and squirt guns. Really?"

Micky grinned sheepishly. "They're doing okay so far?"

A soft smirk touched the Texan's lips as he sighed, shaking his head. "Alright, then, pass some this way. Might as well put all that range time to good use."

Micky looked mildly surprised at is friend. Range time? What range time?

Turning his attention back to what was happening on the floor, Mike cringed when he saw the inspector lose his footing on the dish soap covered floor and slide into three of the Sandovals, knocking them all to the floor.

"Strike!" Micky shouted with glee as he shot another approaching goon in the face with his ammonia filled gun.

"Leave the shooting to the others." Doctor Parsons whispered, shifting the ammonia filled squirt gun Micky offered Mike back out of his reach as he and Paulo joined them on the now-very crowded bandstand. "Let's have a look at you."

They were forced to duck down behind the suddenly very small seeming amplifiers, sound boards and lighting control panels then as the Sandovals began trying to shoot their way out of the room. A barrage of bullets hit the back of the bandstand, only inches from their heads, reminding Mike why he'd insisted they move.

"MIIIIIIIKE!" Peter cried when one came perilously close to hitting him. Micky, Paulo and Doc all held onto the guitarist as he attempted to move to where the blond bassist was.

"I think we need to move to the banquet room," Micky announced, prompting a vaguely amused smirk from Mike. "I know, I know…" he said, sticking his tongue out at the guitarist.

"Davy," Mike addressed the singer, who grabbed Peter's sleeve and brought them both to kneel beside Mike. "You and Pete head on to the banquet room. Watch for us through the window and don't open the door for anyone unless you're sure they're not a Sandoval or an officer right now, got it?"

"Got it." Davy agreed, "Should we maybe take the birds with us?" he asked then, indicating the four girls on the bandstand with them.

Mike just nodded wearily before reminding him, "Keep an eye on them and any other patrons who got caught up in this mess. Try to keep them in there and keep your heads down. Just stay low, okay. We've only got squirt guns to protect you with."

"Right." Davy replied before he and Peter exchanged a worried and frightened look with one another. "How do we do this?"

"Just pretend you're ice skating?" Peter offered and they began making their way, slip-sliding one at a time toward the banquet room door.

Davy went first, but bumped into one of the officers, who fell over into the Sandoval he was attempting to arrest as Davy spun out of control, pirouetting in a wide arc around the rest of them before crash landing into the banquet room. Once he regained his footing, brushing himself off and leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe as if he'd done all of that intentionally, he gestured for Peter to start sending the girls his way. The four girls managed to glide gracefully there, but Peter quickly tripped over a fallen policeman. His feet flew out from under him, sending him sliding on his stomach the whole way to the banquet room. The door closed quickly after the crash within told everyone outside the room that he'd made it there.

"Okay, good. Now you, Mick," Mike tiredly attempted to instruct before he was interrupted.

"No, Micky, I need you to go out through the kitchen and out the back. Tell the EMTs waiting back there that we need them now." Doc Parsons addressed the curly haired drummer, noting that the officers seemed to be gaining the upper hand in their efforts to corral the criminals.

Mike closed his eyes, blowing out a slow steadying breath as the doctor directed Micky. When he heard the direction, however, his eyes snapped back open. "No, now, Doc," he protested, hating how weak he sounded even to his own ears. Clearing his throat, he continued only slightly stronger, "Unless they're bulletproof, you can't expect them to come into..."

"Hush, Mike," both doctors and the drummer all said at once.

"It's not your call, son." Doc Parsons informed him, pushing him gently into a prone position as Paulo folded up his jacket, settling it behind Michael's head. "You did your part in this little plan of yours. Now it's time for us to do ours. Just remember your promise, now, and lay there like a good boy, please."

Mike looked ready to protest when Paulo snapped, "Shut it, Stretch," as he opened the young man's coat. Mike just sighed and nodded, giving in as gracefully as he could manage under the circumstances.

Micky gasped at the sight of the growing red stain on his friend's shirt. "Crap, that's not…whoa…okay, EMT's. Right. On it." He sputtered before sliding from the bandstand to the kitchen as swiftly as he could manage.

"New injury or did we reopen his earlier wound again?" Parsons asked, clearly concerned, as he removed his glasses from his pocket and began looking carefully for any sign of an entry mark within the red stain as Paulo started unbuttoning the garment.

Paulo shook his head, finally just ripping Mike's shirt open impatiently, ignoring the flying buttons. "I don't think so," he said, then nodded. "I suspected this earlier. He's torn some of his sutures."

Mike's entire body abruptly stiffened to the point of shaking, his eyes rolling back, his breathing coming in short, labored gasps.

"Dammit," Paulo hissed. "Manages to go more than five years without a single seizure, then has three in a single day."

"I'm fairly certain he hasn't put himself through anything close to what he's faced recently at any point during those 5 years." Parsons muttered, withdrawing a bottle and a syringe. "I take it you didn't give him anything for them?"

Paulo shook his head as he continued timing the seizure. "No sir. I told you everything I've given him while we were seated at the table. I didn't know what he'd already been given before reaching me, and didn't want to risk adverse reactions or overdose. I'd probably use Valproate instead of Phenobarbytol, though. He's already having some shortness of breath completely aside from the seizures. I don't think we want to risk depressing his respiration further."

Parsons smiled, turning the bottle he'd withdrawn toward Paulo so that the younger doctor could see it's label. "Sorry, sir," Paulo apologized, reddening slightly. "Of course you knew that."

"I'm pleased that you do too," Parsons grinned as he filled the syringe. "It means you were paying attention in class."

Slowly, seemingly too slowly, Mike's body finally relaxed. Paulo gently turned the guitarist's head to the side, ensuring that his airway remained unobstructed, then made as if to try to rouse him, but Parsons stopped him with a shake of his head as he administered the agreed upon medication to the young musician. "Let him just rest a few moments. He'll come to on his own. Until then, I think still and quiet is in his best interest. We can assess his cognition when he wakes later." He watched as the younger doctor applied fresh gauze and another pressure bandage over the previous one. "Good, you remembered not to remove the old one when applying a fresh one where bleeding is still present until we are ready to suture the wound again, which needs to be done at the hospital since we want to be certain that none of the internal sutures have come undone first."

"I guess I stayed awake during that lecture, too." Paulo smirked as he finished wrapping the pressure bandage.

"Such a shame y'wasted all that energy, now, ain't it?" said a voice from behind them. Paulo turned slowly to find himself face to face with the business end of a gun held by his patient's uncle. "Step on away from him now, doctors, I'd hate to have to go through ya."

"You'll have to if you want to get to my patient," Doctor Parsons said, not budging an inch.

Paulo stood, glaring at the man as he placed himself between him and the others. "Do you think my father will forgive you for shooting me, Bobby? He said he had new reasons to keep Michael alive."

"That was before he found out that _Robert_ had set him up," Bobby stressed. "I'm pretty sure he'd be just as happy with all four between our property and us eliminated now."

"We don't know for certain it was _Michael_." Paulo pointed out loudly, intentionally drawing the attention of the others on the main floor, his eyes narrowing. "He was searched for a wire when he first arrived and has remained with one or more of us since then. I do not, however, recall either you or your brother being similarly searched. How do we know that one or both of you isn't cooperating with the police in an effort to save your own hides?"

"You arrogant beaner," Bobby spat, cocking the gun in his hand. "You deserve this…"

The sound of a gun being cocked behind Bobby silenced the older Texan. "You should be careful who you point that at, Bobby," Sandy warned. "we _arrogant beaners_ do not appreciate it at all when you threaten our children."

Bobby jumped in surprise at the sound, lowering his weapon and turning to face the angry patriarch of the Sandoval family. "Sandy…look…I'm sorry, it's just that…"

"I told you today," Sandy reminded him calmly. "That the last warning I gave you would be your last warning ever from me, did I not?"

"Yes, sir, but…" Bobby began, his eyes going wide with fear.

Sandy smiled softly as he pulled the trigger then looked down at the corpse at his feet. He carefully placed the gun on the floor then and put his hands behind his back, surrendering peacefully to the inspector who now aimed his gun at him.

"See what happens when you plan an operation carefully," the inspector addressed those still on the bandstand before finally realizing that there was a man down. "Well…carry on then. You two just…go back to what you were doing." He barely managed to step out of the way with Sandy in tow when a gurney and its curly haired rider crashed into the bandstand.

"They're right behind me," Micky announced, gesturing toward the EMT's making their way carefully across the slippery floor toward them. "How's he doing?"

He hopped off and sat down on the edge of the bandstand, careful to give them all plenty of room to work.

"We'll have to get back to you on that one," Paulo replied, taking Mike's blood pressure then moving to the other side so that the EMT's would have room to join them. He shared his findings with the newcomers, then let Parsons fill them in on Mike's medical history as the EMT's set up the IV and oxygen, then lowered the gurney enough to carefully place him upon it, readying him for transport.

"Careful," one of the EMT's cautioned them unnecessarily, reminding them, "this floor is damn slippery."

They all started to move toward the kitchen when Micky let out a strangled cry of surprise. "Tell you what," the man standing behind him offered with a sneer. He had one arm around Micky's throat and a gun trained at the drummer's temple. "You're all gonna git me outta here. We're gonna load on up int' that ambulance out back and yer gonna drive me to th'nearest airport. Once ah'm free and clear of this whole mess, ah'll letcha go. Now let's git on …" The end of that sentence was lost as the man fell to the floor. Davy grinned broadly as he dropped what was left with the chair he'd used to knock the man out.

"Peter saw you guys through the window and thought you could maybe use a bit of help out here," he shrugged nonchalantly.

One of the officers slid toward them on the floor. "Is that Ren Nesmith?" he asked, pointing down at Davy's feet. "One of the Mexicans out there said he was still in here."

"That's him," Micky replied, glad to see him carted away. "He held a gun to my head. Did you see that? He could have shot me!"

"Speaking of being shot," The EMT reminded them, gesturing toward the man on the gurney.

"Right, let's go then," Davy nodded, stepping out of the way and gesturing to the others in the banquet room to follow them out as well.

The officer cuffed the unconscious criminal and dragged him out of the main entrance as the others all made their way out through the kitchen to see their friend once again loaded into a waiting ambulance and driven away with sirens blaring.

"Do you boys need a ride?" The red-haired girl asked. "I've got my car out front."

"We've got ours, too, but you can follow if you want." Micky replied still staring after the rapidly disappearing emergency vehicle. "Come on, guys. Let's load up."

"Maybe you could just call us and let us know how he is?" The red head offered them a napkin upon which all four girls had written their phone numbers. "We'll probably all be at my house," she gestured toward the first number. "But if not, we'll be at Candy's." she gestured to the second number.

"Sure…sure, we can do that," Davy agreed, giving Micky's sleeve a tug. "Come on, mate. We want to be there when they have word."

Micky just nodded and led Peter and Davy to the Monkeemobile, praying silently once again for their fallen friend.


	24. Chapter 24

_Chapter 24. It Seems Like Yesterday_

The boys listened closely to the goings on in the ambulance as they drove to the hospital, so they knew when Mike's blood pressure dropped and his heart rate became faster. They heard the doctors and paramedics working to take care of him, and the jumble of voices when they rushed him in from the ambulance, but then everything went silent. They ran into the emergency room, straight toward the nurse's station before Micky caught sight of Doc Parsons waiting there for them with Mike's hat in his hand.

"Where is he? Is he okay?" Micky asked breathlessly as the doctor took him by the shoulder's and steered him toward a quieter area, certain that the other two would follow.

"Jimmy Hannigan has him." Parsons told them, nudging them toward chairs. He closed the door behind them, then seated himself across from them, sighing tiredly, staring down at the hat in his hand for a moment before holding it out to Michael's friends.

"What does that mean?" Davy asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

Peter was afraid to ask questions. He was afraid he wouldn't like the answers he heard. Micky reached out and took the hat from the doctor, waiting anxiously for the doctor's answer to Davy's question.

"It means I should have done more to stop him from leaving here this morning." Doc Parsons replied carefully.

"Mike's stubborn," Micky reminded him quietly, still staring down at the hat in his hands. "Once he's made up his mind to do something, there's not much chance of stopping him. We all know that."

Parsons hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Yes, well, be that as it may, he's been through a great deal in a very short amount of time. The human body is an amazing machine, but it just isn't built to withstand so much stress in so short a period."

"But he's going to be okay," Davy pressed almost desperately. "He has to be."

Doctor Parsons wiped a gnarled hand across his face. "A month ago I'd have been more optimistic, but …"

"No. No buts." Peter insisted, unwilling to let the doctor continue that thought given where it appeared to be heading. "Davy's right. He's going to be okay because he has to be."

"He's in good hands." Parsons did his best to assure them without lying to them. "If anyone can pull him through this, Jimmy can."

"Why can't you?" Peter asked. "You're his doctor."

"I'm not a trauma surgeon, and right now that's what he needs." Parsons explained. "He needs someone to evaluate whether or not there's internal bleeding, which I'm almost positive there is, and do something about it, meaning that right now Jimmy's the best chance your friend has to survive." He paused as Paulo Sandoval entered the room. "Did Jimmy send you back here, then?"

Paulo nodded sadly, glancing nervously around at the others in the room. "He feels I'm too close to the case to remain objective"

"I suspect he's right," Parsons agreed, reaching up to accept the cup of coffee Paulo brought in for him. "Paul, this is Micky Dolenz, Davy Jones and Peter Tork. They're friends of Michael's. Boys, this is Doctor Paul Sands."

"I thought you were Paulo Sandoval," Peter's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I am. Was. Still am, I guess, but not legally. Not exactly. I changed it when I became a citizen. One of my teachers when I was younger told me that people didn't trust doctors with foreign sounding names, so I anglicized it." Paul shrugged, seating himself next to his colleague. He glanced at Parsons before adding softly, "They've got Michael in back now." Parsons nodded again.

Micky caught the look that passed between the two doctors. "What does that mean?" he echoed Davy's earlier question.

"It means that I should have paid more attention to his vital signs after the first seizure." Paulo answered sullenly. "When a patient has medical history like Michael's, you have to be extra diligent. It's too easy to overlook signs of shock or to mistake them for something less immediately life threatening."

"Now, Paul, you did a fine job looking out for him in spite of some very real opposition. We all heard it. You did everything you could have done." Parsons corrected the younger doctor gently.

"He's right," Peter agreed, noting the weary and worried expression the young doctor wore. "We all heard you."

Paul looked at Peter in surprise. "You did? I thought the wire belonged to the police."

"Yeah, it did," Micky admitted sheepishly. "We just sort of eavesdropped."

Paulo reddened slightly. "Glad I didn't say anything too stupid then."

"No, you just pointed out what a smartass he was, and I'm pretty sure we all already knew that." Davy quipped weakly. "Wait, you said after the first seizure? How many did he have?"

"Three," Paulo replied, watching the steam waft lazily upward from his cup. "The first was in the car on the way to the dock masters office, after I woke him. The second was inside the dock master's office."

"We thought maybe he'd passed out." Peter said quietly. "We didn't know."

"I can see where it could have sounded that way," Paulo answered, his eyes still glued to the coffee cup in his hands. "The third was at the restaurant, just before Micky came back with the EMTs."

Davy clenched his jaw, then rose, pacing back and forth across the floor. Micky sat staring blankly at the wool hat he held tightly in his hands, noting that the listening device was no longer tucked into the brim.

"The officers collected it back shortly after we arrived," Parsons informed him somewhat unnecessarily.

"I guess they got all they needed from him," Micky muttered. "No real need to keep tabs on him now, right?"

Nobody answered, but then he didn't really expect them to, either.

Peter sat staring at the mismatched tiles on the floor. As hard as he tried, he couldn't get past the fact that this just wasn't fair. Michael hadn't done anything to deserve this. He wasn't mean or cruel to people. He was patient with them, especially with Peter himself, even when it was hard to be. He was the one they all called on when they were scared or hurt or in trouble. He'd earned better than this. As Peter sat there, blinking back tears, that anger he'd felt when Mike had first been shot made itself known again. They'd been through this once already. They'd already done this, he thought, they'd faced losing Michael once, and it wasn't fair they had to do it again. It was too much. He realized as those thoughts went through his head that he wasn't angry with Michael this time, but with those who'd used his love for his friends to force him risk himself again. He was angry with the Sandovals and Nesmiths, but also with the police department who hadn't found a way to do this without him even when they should have.

"If your father hadn't stepped in to stop Ren back there at the dock master's…" Peter began, needing to know for sure that the man who sat among them was genuinely Michael's friend and not an enemy.

"I would have." Paulo assured him, understanding where the question was going. "I'd already moved to block Ren's shot when my father ordered him to wait." He swallowed hard as he looked up at last to face the others. "I swore I wouldn't just stand by and let him be hurt again, and I meant it."

Peter met his gaze and nodded. After a moment, he asked. "Your family came up from Mexico to help Michael?"

"Not exactly." Paulo frowned as he tried to decide how much to share. Deciding that Michael's friends probably deserved to know everything, he drew a deep breath and continued. "That was the intention when my father sent for us, but Michael's family wasn't willing to have a whole flock of Mexicans there just for him." His eyes blazed with anger as he explained. "They decided that it was enough for just one of us to look after Michael. The rest could take up work that needed to be done to pay for the privilege. So my mother and sister, Lupe, worked in the house, cooking and cleaning for them, and my father and brother, Emilio, worked at the shop and around the ranch. I was the youngest and smallest, so I was the least useful, so they decided that I could spend my time with Michael."

"How did you know what to do?" Micky asked, partly because he was curious and partly because he couldn't bear the thought of silence at that moment.

"I didn't know, exactly. When we first got there, Michael had only been home from the hospital for a couple of weeks. He'd been there for a couple of months and they'd started some work with him before sending him home, so he wasn't completely helpless when I got there, which I was really grateful for. I'm not sure how I'd have helped him if that hadn't been the case. I knew he'd slept in the hay loft before he was injured because that's where they put me and it still had a few of his things in it. I admit, I went through them. I wanted to know who he was before so I knew who we were supposed to be helping him become again. There wasn't much there, though. Just a few pictures, a guitar pick, and a knitted wool hat. I'd heard about him a little from my father, but most of it was just sort of passing comments. Usually things about how unfair it was for a child to take on the responsibility of a man while the men in his family took none at all." He sighed. "Anyway, that first morning, I went into the room where he was around 6am carrying that wool hat because it was kind of chilly and I'd heard his grandmother saying that he wasn't supposed to let the steel plate in his head get too hot or cold. I remember thinking I'd help get him up and get him dressed and everything, but he was already up. My first sight of him was not at all what I expected. I walked into the room and there was this very tall, very skinny kid with short black hair, sitting there on the edge of the bed in a pair of jeans that would probably have ended up back down around his ankles if it weren't for the belt cinched tight around him to keep them up. He was trying to button up this shirt that you could have probably fit three of him in easily, but he couldn't quite make his fingers work to do it. When I reached out to help him, though, he flinched back and looked up at me like I'd done something completely incomprehensible. I didn't get it at first, and tried again, but he pushed my hand out of the way. It wasn't like he was angry, though. He just needed me to understand that I had to let him do it himself. My English wasn't very good at all back then, so I asked 'Necesitas ayuda?' - Do you need help - and he shook his head no. I remember feeling very relieved because he understood me and I understood him, so that was one hurdle I didn't need to worry about too much. So, I just sat there with him while he fought with those buttons for probably a couple hours before he finally got them. Then I watched while he struggled with his boots. I could see he was getting frustrated, but he didn't make a sound and he didn't once relent and let me help him. And not once in all that time did anyone come up and check on him."

Davy'd been watching Doctor Parsons expression during Paulo's tale, curious to note their own reactions were mirrored in the older man's eyes as well as Paulo continued.

"After a few days of being scolded for being so late and lazy for getting down to breakfast sometime around 9 in the morning I explained to my mother what was happening, and she started to bring food up to his room. His aunt's didn't approve, though. They said we were coddling him, and insisted he could come down on time and eat with the rest of them or do without. "

Davy was genuinely shocked by that. "Even his Aunt Kate?" he asked, knowing Mike had always made her sound far kinder and more understanding than that.

"You mean his Uncle Clayton's widow?" Paulo clarified. "She doesn't live there with them. I've never actually even met her or her daughters. From what I understand, their ranch is up in New Gallifrey."

"Where's that?" Micky wondered, certain he'd never heard Mike mention a town by that name before.

"It's a little blink and you'll miss it town about 3 and a half hours north of there, between Tyler and Kilgore. Michael was born there. He was one of a set of twins, but the other one, a girl, was stillborn, or at least that's what his aunts said. My mother overheard them talking about how his mother always insisted that someone stole her little girl. Something about hearing both babies cry before they were taken from the room. I guess she was pretty disturbed though. It doesn't sound like anyone ever took her claim too seriously. Anyway, New Gallifrey barely qualifies as a town. The general store and bank and livery and bar and everything else are all right there on the main street, but that's pretty much the only street there is. To get anywhere else except for the old abandoned mine there you need a mode of transportation that can go across across all the gnarled terrain without getting bogged down. Most people who live there travel by horse or golf cart." Paulo glanced up from his coffee cup. "He told me once that there's actually a place to rent those right there on the main street, by the way."

"Horses?" Peter asked.

Paulo shook his head. "No, golf carts. Most people would rather load their belongings into those and drive up than try to carry them on horseback to the different ranches."

"I didn't know she wasn't actually a Nesmith." Davy admitted. "It never occurred to me to ask."

"And he's still not good at volunteering information?" Paulo rolled his eyes as the others shook their heads. Deciding that now was probably not the best time to get hung up on Mike's shortcomings, Paulo continued. "Anyway, his grandmother approached my mother after that and suggested that if he and I were going to miss meals because we weren't going to be there, then she could pack food for us to eat while we were gone, and suggested that maybe Mike should be moved back out to the barn with me instead of keeping him in the house where Bobby was living, too. I didn't understand that she was trying to protect us both at the time. I just knew she was putting him entirely in my hands. I was okay with it, though, because that was when I came up with how I was going to help him."

"How was that?" Micky encouraged him to continue.

"Fishing." Paulo smiled, shrugging at their confusion. "It's funny. I didn't really even like fishing all that much, it was just was all I could think of to help him practice everything he needed help with and still get fed. That was the first concern I had because that first time I looked at him I remembered thinking he had to eat more. He was probably six or seven inches taller than me, but I could tell just by looking that I outweighed him. It just didn't seem right. So I made sure he had enough food from then on, and he gained a little weight. Probably not as much as he should have, but at least it was enough to keep his pants up more easily."

"So this has been a lifelong fight with him," Doctor Parsons asked, though he was unsurprised by the revelation.

"I think so." Paul answered easily, "but at least we made some headway with it then. And we got to focus on all the other things he needed to work on, too - gross motor, fine motor, mobility, memory, communication. We did a lot together. Mobility was the easiest, because he was already so restless, like he needed to be anywhere but there. Baiting his line took fine motor skills. Casting his line took gross motor coordination. The water was pretty much fished out long before we ever started going there and I think we both knew it, but I didn't know what else to do to help, and nobody else was trying to help him. He was a pain in the ass sometimes, though. He didn't ever make helping him easy. I wasn't always sure if he just didn't want the help, or didn't trust it, but he'd never come out and admit that he needed it. He always wanted to do it on his own. It meant something when he finally started trusting me enough to just let me do some things to help, even if he didn't make it easy on me."

"That hasn't changed." Davy huffed, glancing at the door. How much of this would have changed if Mike had made it easier for the rest of them to help him?

Paulo nodded. He could see that for himself.

"How did you reach him?" Micky asked, wondering if there was something Paulo knew that would help them in the future with their hard-headed friend. Assuming there was one.

"I think it was more a matter of helping him reach himself before he could connect with anyone else again, if that makes any sense. He'd already gotten used to using that silence as a barrier between himself and the rest of the people around him. It was different when he had to share it with someone else. All that quiet time together got him thinking and remembering who he'd been before he was injured though, I think, and it helped me, too, because I had to get used to reading his expressions. It was really quiet, too, because he wouldn't speak at all when I first got there. It got easier for both of us after awhile, but getting him started was the hard part. I finally convinced him to help me work on my English just so I could get him to actually talk to me. Most of the time he managed okay, but sometimes when his thoughts would get ahead of him he'd get kind of tongue tied, then he'd have to backtrack and reorganize them to make his point understood. Other times he'd be midsentence and forget what word he was looking for. You could tell he knew it, and it was there on the tip of his tongue, but it would just elude him somehow. That always frustrated him." Paulo replied, uncertain whether that actually helped answer the questions or not.

"It still does," Peter mumbled.

Davy nodded his agreement. "Yeah, he usually chooses his words pretty carefully, but sometimes he'll get tongue-tied even now."

"He gave a speech in a courtroom once to help get me out of a lot of trouble. He stumbled over his words at one point, and you could tell it bothered him, but he kept going." Peter remembered. "I'm glad he did, too."

"We all are, Pete," Micky placed a hand on the blonde's shoulder as he resumed pacing once again.

"I'm glad he did, too. He might not have back then. He had a lot of short term memory issues for awhile that affected all of that, too, though." Paulo shared, realizing that, if nothing else, the conversation served to distract them somewhat from what was happening to their friend in that moment. "It was understandable, and it did get better, but sometimes it all made him very frustrated, and, I think, kind of embarrassed, and he'd just stop talking altogether again. I figured out eventually that it wouldn't last long if I started asking questions about music or cars or motorcycles or things like that, things he was already passionate about, but even then it was a challenge sometimes. I also discovered that he could communicate much easier if he was writing instead of speaking. It actually surprised me how well he could express himself on paper, once I figured out how to decipher his handwriting." He was rewarded with a soft snicker from Davy indicating that yet another than had not changed about his friend. "I thought that might be one of the reasons he was still kind of quiet overall, but my father said he was always kind of quiet even before he was injured. He thought that Michael had just gotten so used to being ignored and treated as if he wasn't there that embracing the silence became easier than fighting it. After finding out what sort of things he went through when they did decide to notice him, though, I think he stayed quiet hoping they'd keep on ignoring him."

"What do you mean?" Doctor Parsons asked, his brow furrowing.

For the first time since joining them, Paulo seemed reluctant to answer one of their questions. After a several long and uncomfortably expectant moments, though, he decided it was better to continue than to sit there and let the silence fester. "One night, about four months after we allI got there, Bobby came out to the barn where we were."

"His uncle?" Peter interrupted, shifting in his seat.

"Yeah. He was drunk when he came in. The way he looked at us made my skin crawl." Paulo shuddered visibly at the memory. "He started to sort of walk around me in a wide circle. Stalking me. Michael was quick to pull me behind him and keep me there, and he made sure to face Bobby at all times. Not to let him get behind us. When Bobby tried to rush at us, Michael tripped him, and shoved me toward to barn door. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I knew it was bad from the way Michael had reacted, so I ran to get my father. By the time we got back out there, Bobby had a bloody nose and a black eye," he paused, glancing at them, wondering if he should stop there, bile rising in his throat at the memory.

"And Mike?" Davy prompted, needing to know.

Paulo couldn't meet their gaze. "Bobby had him pinned down. My father stopped us before we could see more than that I didn't understand what exactly had happened back then but I knew it was bad when he made Emilio take me back to the house. It was maybe half an hour before he came back inside and got us. He sent me to the barn to go to sleep and took Emilio with him. Michael was laying very still, wrapped up in a blanket. He didn't answer when I spoke to him, so I thought maybe he was asleep. The next morning he was gone before I even got up. The sun wasn't even up yet. I noticed his gear was gone, though, so I went into the house and got the food and then went down to our usual spot. "

"Was he there?" Micky wondered, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach as his own overactive imagination filled in the details Paulo had deliberately skipped over.

"He'd been there for awhile, I guess." Paulo answered. "He wouldn't talk about what happened, though. Wouldn't talk about anything at all, in fact. He just sort of shut down. Nothing I tried worked to get him talking again during that time. I decided that maybe he just needed some time to work through what had happened and didn't push him. It went on like that with him going through the motions of our usual routine but not really interacting with me or anyone else for over a week. Then he finally started reacting to me again, but still not really talking until his uncle showed up out there a few weeks later." Paulo actually smirked when he looked at them. "He came up behind us. Behind me, actually. I don't know if Michael heard him or smelled him or how he knew he was there, but he stood up and pulled me behind him again just like he had that night in the barn, only this time he warned his uncle if he ever came near me he'd gut him like a fish."

Davy shook his head as Micky sighed. "Yeah, that sounds like something he'd say."

"Bobby stood there swearing at him, reminding him that he could get to him anytime he wanted and that my father would not always be there to protect him. I thought he'd come at us anyway. I guess Michael thought so too because he grabbed the knife out of the tackle box and dared him to try it." Paulo sighed. "I'd never seen him so angry before or since until he was faced with his father today. He told Bobby that he might want to remember that worked both ways. He could get to him anytime he wanted, too, and if he ever so much as looked at me again he'd prove it. I told my father about it when we got back. Bobby never came anywhere near me again, but Emilio told me he'd heard him and Ren talking at the shop later about how dangerous Michael was becoming. I didn't understand what they meant because I knew that he wasn't really interested in hurting anyone. He'd only been trying to protect me. I didn't know about the rest of their history until my father told me today." He sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "We were there for about three more months, maybe four, before my father decided to send us all to stay with family in San Antonio. I tried to convince him that Michael needed to go with us, but he told me that couldn't happen and that I was not to worry about him anymore. I was so angry with him that I refused to talk to him for months afterward."

Peter looked at the young doctor sadly. Whatever he might have said, however, was preempted by Doctor Hannigan's entrance.

"I thought I might find you all in here," the surgeon said softly from the doorway. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I thought you all should know I was able to locate and re-repair the damage. We should be returning Michael to the same room we had him in before very soon." He gave them a moment for what he'd just said to sink in, then offered, "We're going to have to watch him closely for awhile to make sure that I actually caught all of it, so I'm really counting on you three boys to help keep an eye on him. I'm going up to get let Nurse Bentley know, and to help get him settled once they bring him up. If you like, I can send someone back down for you once that's done."

"Thank you, Jimmy," Doctor Parsons responded for all of them. "We'd all appreciate that."

The surgeon smiled and nodded before exiting quickly to get Michael settled in once again.


	25. Chapter 25

_Chapter 25. And It Looks Like We've Made It Once Again_

_Slow it down. Just breathe._

He repeated this mantra to himself as he struggled toward the voices floating just out of range, familiar yet so oddly foreign. He paused to listen, forcing himself to focus on the voices, pushing the dreams back farther into the darkness as their words became clearer.

"…is taking so long? It's just been way too long, right?" one of them was saying. "Do you think maybe we should call the nurse again?"

"She said she'd break your finger if you touched that button again," a soft voice reminded the first.

"Guys, look!" an oddly accented one exclaimed. "Mike…Mike, can you hear me?"

"Oh wow, he's…Michael?" the second voice almost pleaded before reassuring, "It's okay. Whenever you're ready. We're right here with you."

"Come on, man. Come back, now." The first one directed. "You can do it, Mike. Just open your eyes."

The voices became clearer, and the identities of the three speaking hit him, as well, but the pain that accompanied that clarity left him wishing, if only fleetingly, that he could go back to simply floating in that midpoint between dreaming and waking where he was no longer haunted by memory, but wasn't quite aware of harsh reality either. Their voices pushed him onward, though.

_Why do they sound so afraid? _

He heard a sound unfamiliar to him, somewhere between a groan and a painful sob.

"That's it, Mike. Easy now. Just open your eyes. You can do it." Micky said as he reached for the nurse's call button, pressing it again despite her previous warning.

_Wait! Did that sound come from me, then?_

"Michael, please wake up now." Peter begged, abandoning his earlier assurance that Mike could take whatever time in needed for his own need to see his friend awake.

"You can do it, mate. I know you can. Just open your eyes, now." Davy tried his best to sound encouraging.

Mike forced his eyes open, only to shut them once again as the light tore through his head.

"sonofa…" he caught himself, his voice like gravel in his painfully raw throat, as he slowly opened his eyes again. He couldn't seem to locate a part of his body that didn't hurt. What had happened now?

Micky let out a loud WHOOP of joy.

Mike clenched his jaw and pressed his eyes tightly closed as the sound had essentially the same effect as the light had a moment before.

"Micky!" Davy chastised. "Sorry, Mike." The soft squeeze of his shoulder convinced Mike to force his eyes open yet again, if only to prove to himself and his friends that he could.

Peter smiled, too overcome to say anything in that moment as Davy patted him gently on the shoulder and offered a soft, "Welcome back."

"I warned you, if you so much as looked at that button…" the nurse bellowed as she entered the room.

"Keep it down," Davy demanded, noting the grimace that passed his friend's features. "He's got a headache, he has." He gestured toward Mike so she could see why they'd called her this time.

"Oh. I'm sorry," she offered more quietly. "You're finally awake. Your friends were starting to worry about you."

"Starting? " Micky asked incredulously. "What's this starting? We've been worrying, the only thing we've been starting is to go completely mad."

A smile touch Michael's eyes which he rolled heavenward, as always amused and somewhat baffled by his friend's antics.

"You've been there a long time now, too." Davy teased Micky, thinking that this seemed like a good time for just about anything that would make Mike smile.

"How do you feel?" the nurse asked, picking up the clipboard at the foot of his bed.

Uncertain he wanted to try speaking again just yet after the last attempt produced a sensation something like a course-grade sandpaper being dragged along the inside of his throat, he settled for wiggling his fingers, prompting snickering from his band-mates.

At the nurse's confused expression, Peter supplied, "He feels with his fingers." Garnering a few more snickers from his bandmates and a loud guffaw from the nurse.

"Oh, really, Mister Nesmith, I would think you'd take this all a bit more seriously." She admonished sternly.

"He was being perfectly serious," Davy said with as straight a face as he could manage." Why? How do you feel?"

"If you're feeling well enough to treat this as a joke, then perhaps you're ready to be discharged," she threatened, thinking that might bring him around.

Mike quirked a brow, thinking that might not be the worst idea, especially if everyone who'd be in and out of the room had so little humor, but his band-mates, seeming to catch the look in his eye, were quick to unanimously veto the suggestion in his stead.

Peter shook his head, his eyes going wide in fear and desperation.

Micky sobered quickly, his eyes narrowing, "You can't do that! You don't have that authority."

"You must be joking?" Davy spat. "Why would you even suggest such a thing? Is that even ethical, making a threat like that to someone in his condition?"

"Guys," Mike croaked painfully. "settle down…"

"You're throat might be raw for a little while. That sometimes happens when they've had to establish an airway the way they did. It's just a bit of swelling. You should be fine. Let me just get you some water. Here," the nurse poured him a glass, carefully leveling it at the 4 oz mark and popping in a straw. "Sip it slowly."

Mike hesitated, then nodded and did as he was told, sipping briefly then settling back, closing his eyes tiredly.

As she held the straw toward Michael's lips, she told the others. "When you help him with this, you need to make certain of exactly how much you put in the cup and how much he drinks. It's important because we're still monitoring his fluids in case there any injuries were missed." They all nodded, having already been given that speech from Doctor Hannigan and each of the previous nurses. Noting Mike appeared to be drifting off again, she frowned. "Mister Nesmith…" she began, more gently this time.

"Mike," he corrected without opening his eyes, his voice sounding a little more like his own this time.

The nurse smiled. "Mike…I need you to try to stay awake long enough for me to alert the doctor that you've regained consciousness. He's going to want to speak with you a moment."

" 'm 'wake," he murmured, though his friend's smirks all suggested he might not be for long.

"Hey, Mike, I'm sorry about what happened to your blonde." Micky offered, glancing mischievously toward the others.

Mike's eyes snapped open at once, then narrowed, just as Micky had known they would. "Mick?" he asked carefully, the discomfort in his throat ignored in light of his concern for his beautiful guitar though it could still be heard in his tone. "What happened to the blonde?" The snickering of the other two told him he'd been had. "Now, why would you go and suggest something like that?" he asked, bewildered.

"Just trying to keep you awake, Mike," Micky replied innocently.

Mike looked flabbergasted. "Dangit, Mick, I said I was awake."

"Uh-huh," Micky grinned. "Sure, Mike. Sure you were."

"Let me just go get the doctor," the nurse sighed, shaking her head as she left the room, still trying to decide for herself if these three visitors were really a good thing for her patient or not.

"So…you weren't any of you hurt, were you?" Mike asked, looking each of them over as carefully as he could manage. Not quite liking the limited view of Peter over his shoulder, he made as if to push the button to sit up but was halted quickly by three sets of hands over his own.

"No, Mike. Just stay flat until the doc looks you over, okay? We're fine. All of us. Not a scratch. Really. One of the detectives sprained his wrist landing on it wrong when he slipped on the dish soap, but other than that, the good guys all came out okay." Micky filled him in quickly, keeping his hand in the way of the button. "Except for you, I mean."

Mike nodded, his eyes trying almost desperately to close again despite his clear effort to keep them open. "What about the bad guys. Did they get them?"

"Every last Sandoval has been accounted for." Davy nodded, choosing his wording carefully, then smiled brilliantly as he added. "Including Louis and his brother Julio, even after they made it out the door."

"How'd they stop'em?" Mike asked, certain that any who made it out the door should have been lost causes.

"Potatoes." Peter announced proudly.

"Pota…oh!" Mike smirked in amusement, turning his gaze to Peter and giving a slight nod of approval as he challenged, "You didn't…did you?"

"That's right. The good old stuff up the tail pipe with a potato trick. It was all Pete's idea," Micky laughed. "Mister Antonelli handled it great once I explained what we needed him to do."

"Took forever for them to explain it to me." Davy groused good-naturedly. "I didn't know you'd blow the motor if you blocked up the tailpipe, but sure enough, they captured Louis and Julio just as they were climbing back out of their automobile."

Mike gave a faint huff of laughter followed by a groan. His hand fluttered weakly at his side and he held his breath, closing his+++ eyes as the pain increased to a nearly unbearable level.

"Remember before, mate. I imagine it might even be a bit worse now. Just try to keep still." Davy urged gently. They all fell quiet as they waited for Mike to gather himself again.

"Wait," Mike said finally, as something in Davy's wording dawned on him. "You said all Sandovals were accounted for…"

The three boys standing around the bed exchanged guilty looks. "Um…yeah…about that…" Micky began.

"Who got away," Mike demanded, his stomach dropping at the thought that this still might not be over.

"Well no-one got away exactly," Micky answered quickly.

"That's right, both are accounted for, too." Peter assured him, hoping that would be enough to keep Michael calm, at least for the moment.

"Let's just leave off this for now, eh Mike? Just until you're stronger." Davy urged him, hoping that he'd agree just this once.

"That's right, son," Doctor Parsons said from the doorway as he entered the room. "You gave us all a terrible fright. We're all very lucky that Jimmy is as fine a surgeon as he is. It came closer than I ever want to be to your funeral, do you understand?"

Mike nodded, his eyes closing again. As much as he wanted his questions answered, he was too tired to put up much of a fight. Besides, he'd given the doc his word that he wouldn't argue with him about his care once the whole Sandoval thing was done and he meant to keep it.

"Come on, son. Just another minute or two and then we'll let you rest again." Parsons assured him. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Mike Nesmith." Mike croaked tiredly, wishing they could hold off on this part for just a little while. At least until his throat didn't feel like he'd tried to swallow the whole Sahara Desert.

"How about your given name, just to make certain you didn't piece that together from the names you heard them calling you." Parsons smiled, taking his hand and gently compressing the nails on each finger, noting the capillary refill. He could see the boy was tired and in pain, but he needed to know his cognitive functions were all intact, nonetheless.

"Robert Michael Nesmith Junior." Mike replied, his stomach threatening to send back up the water he'd sipped on moments before at the thought of becoming anything at all like the man he'd been named after.

"How old are you?" Parsons asked, noting something in the chart.

Mike sighed. "Twenty two." he replied, though he felt far older in that moment. "Near enough twenty three."

"Too close to not seeing it for the rest of us," the doctor supplied, shaking his head. "I expect you're due a hell of a party this year."

Mike shook his head. He could pretty much guarantee they'd be trying to make up bills longer than that and desperately wished there was a way to shift his care to him and his own home to prevent them from starving for the next ten years paying for all of his hospital bills. He'd be lucky to afford so much as a card for Davy this year.

"Took me over a year to get out of him when his birthday was," Davy told the doctor, "and then he didn't understand why I was put out with him."

The doctor wasn't entirely sure why either, but he'd become accustomed to the way the boys tended to supply details for one another, so he was sure that someone would tell him soon enough.

"Well we could have exchanged gifts together instead of him going without." Davy supplied. "Instead, he went and spent the whole of it on me with not a bit left for me to do for him."

Parsons looked at Mike curiously, supposing he'd supply the clarifying detail.

"We share the date. Well, month and day, anyway," Mike filled in.

Davy added unnecessarily, "with Mike just a bit older."

"Four years," Micky chimed in. "Davy'll be 19 and Mike'll be 23 December 30th."

"Only Mike usually finds an excuse to avoid letting us celebrate him." Peter sighed.

"His favorite being that for his birthday he wants us to celebrate mine." Davy grumbled.

"You always liked bein' fussed over an' I always didn't." Mike summed it up at last. "Made perfect sense for our birthday we'd both get what we liked."

"At last there is clarity," Parsons chuckled. "Well, I do think you owe it to your friends to allow them to celebrate you this year, Michael, if only for relief that they've still got you to celebrate. Now, I want to listen to your heart and then your lungs, so you're going to take a few nice deep breaths for me."

Mike shot him a look as if he'd lost his mind, which only made the old man chuckle. "Just do your best, son."

The doctor listened a moment, frowning, then nodded. "It's about what I expected." He put his stethoscope away, waving off questions from the others. He patted Michael on the shoulder and smiled as the younger man continued to fight the clearly losing battled of remaining awake. "You did fine, son." He told the guitarist as his eyes closed again. "Go ahead and rest now. I'll be back to check on you a little later on."

"How's he doing?" Micky asked as Mike drifted off again.

The doctor answered as he charted his findings. "Better than I expected, actually. His capillary refill is fine, meaning," he held up a finger to ward off the obvious questions, "that Jimmy got all the bleeders _again_ and he's on the mend. His lung function also seems to be improving in spite of everything. If we can just manage to keep him still and cooperating awhile, we could see him through this yet."

Peter and Davy both held their hands quickly over Micky's mouth, cutting off yet another elated whoop.

The inspector barged in before the boy's could even remove their hands and announced loudly. "Your nurse out there informed me that he finally woke up, and I still need to talk to him so I can close out my paperwork, so if you don't mind…"

"I most certainly do mind," Parsons replied, narrowing his eyes even as the three boys positioned themselves protectively between the inspector and their friend. "He's resting now and I won't have you disturbing that. Whatever you need for your paperwork…."

"It'll only take a minute," the inspector said, ignoring the rest of the doctor's answer and calling out loudly, "Alright, Nesmith…"

"Look here," Davy fumed. "You've already endangered him enough, you have. Whatever else you need to know I'll tell you out there." He stormed past him, toward the door. "Come on, then." He demanded, glaring back at him.

The inspector seemed torn for a moment, between following the little man and pressing his need to talk to the patient direct, however the expressions on Micky and Peter's faces seemed to convince him to follow Davy instead.

_Civilians._ He thought. _They never appreciate what I do for them._

"Fine, fine…" he grumbled on his way out. "But you'd better be able to answer my questions, or I'm coming back in here."

The doctor smiled at the other two who slowly relaxed and took up their places on either side of their now-sleeping friend. Glancing at his watch, he informed them on his way out the door, "Grace should be going off shift now. That means Hattie's just come on, then Paige will be here tonight. Seeing as how they're both fond of you boys, I think it's a safe bet that man won't get back in here anytime soon. Paul is planning on swinging by after he's off shift in case any of you need a break, too. If there are any other problems tonight, though, you make sure someone calls me right away."

"Sure thing, Doc," Micky agreed easily, though his eyes remained fixed on their friend. Peter nodded, smiling softly as both settled in to continue watching over their friend.


	26. Chapter 26

_Chapter 26. All The King's Horses and All The King's Men_

Micky, Peter and Davy sat at the end of their cots in Mike's hospital room, speaking in hushed whispers to one another as Peter idly tuned his bass. In the last four hours, their friend had awakened three times, each time seeming more shaken than the last, though he attempted to cover it. Each time he awoke, Grace, the nurse who'd been forced to work a double shift after Hattie called in sick, grew more impatient, storming into the room certain that the three of his friends had somehow awakened him.

"He needs to rest if you want him to recouperate," she chastised them repeatedly.

Mike shot her a scathing look the last time she entered. "I done told you they didn't wake me up and there's no call to jump on'em again." He growled, wincing at the pain that tore through his throat as he did so. Noticing his expression, Davy gave him more water, desperately wishing there was more he could do.

"I see." Grace replied, her eyes narrowing, her voice dripping with venom. "Then perhaps you should enlighten me, Mister Nesmith. You know as well as I do that you need to rest. It's really not optional. So what is preventing you from doing it?"

Mike's jaw clenched a moment before he replied, shifting up on one elbow to look her straight in the eye. "At the moment, it's this annoyin' nurse who keeps stompin' on in here and raisin' cane at my friends 'stead o' treatin' em with even a little respect."

"It's okay, Mike," Micky said quickly, placing a hand on the guitarist's shoulder to still him and gently pressing him back down onto the mattress, noting how quickly his friend had paled. "Just relax. We didn't take it to heart. It's not like we haven't heard worse, right?"

"That's right," Peter agreed quickly. "I mean, you should have heard her earlier…" Realizing abruptly that he'd said the wrong thing when his friend's eyes narrowed at the nurse again, Peter attempted to backtrack. "Um… I didn't mean... I mean…I meant…"

"Let's just get you something for the pain so maybe you can actually rest." Grace interrupted, tired of hearing the blond dolt blather on. In fact, she was genuinely tired of dealing with all of them. How had she managed to get stuck with this case? This wasn't even her usual floor. She hated being moved around like they did in times like these when they were short handed and she hated long haired weirdoes even more.

When she'd heard she was going to be stuck down here instead of up in geriatrics where she usually was, up where you just scrub them down, feed them quick, drug them up and go on your way, she'd thought it was a joke. The last thing she expected was to be stuck on shift when a seriously injured patient decided to get cute and walk out then come back later on a stretcher worse off than before. She wasn't going to forgive him for all the paper she took over his little stunt. Sure, she'd heard the hype on the news about what he'd done while on his little 'walkabout', but she wasn't impressed. If he was so determined to kill himself, he needed to do it on someone else's shift. Still, she had a job to do, part of which included making sure he didn't try that stunt again. With that in mind, she added the pain medication to his IV and then, having noted the script for it in his file, she added the maximum strength and dosage of the sedative allowable based on a script written for use "as needed" and "up to" that dosage, as well. She took the phrase "offer if sleep disruption persists" as a technicality as well. He had, after all, indicated that he wasn't sleeping for reasons that had nothing to do with his environment. She could fudge that as a request for aid, she supposed. If he wouldn't stay down and rest willingly, it was her job to make sure it still happened, for his own good. She fully expected to be home and at least halfway to drunk before he woke up again, so he could aim that insolent glare and sharp tongue at whoever came after her. Just like that, he'd ceased to be her problem. That done, she walked out confident she'd have no reason to come into that room again tonight.

"Guys," Davy whispered to the other two as Mike's eyes seemed to glaze over. "Do they usually give him two shots for pain?"

Micky'd noticed it too. He hurried over to peak in Mike's chart. "Oh shit," he whispered. "Um…Mike?"

Mike heard Micky address him, but he wasn't sure from where. His friend sounded so far away, and couldn't seem to find his own voice. He could feel himself drifting, the pain rapidly receding as the room around him faded.

"The notes said to offer sedation if sleep disruption persists, but she marked that she'd administered it. She just gave it to him, and not in the incremental doses it says to, either," Micky said, going to the Texan's side and taking his hand, rubbing his wrists. "Mike? Mike, can you hear me?"

Davy tenderly brushed his friend's raven hair from his eyes, which were closed again, silently fuming. He didn't trust himself to say anything in that moment. Instead, he sat close, studiously watching his friend's features for any hint that he was in distress. "He didn't ask for that," he said softly at last. "She had no right to do that."

"I know, babe," Micky sighed, placing a hand on Davy's shoulder.

"Mike," Peter called, his eyes filling with worry. When his friend still failed to respond, he looked up at the others, grasping for any hope he could. "Maybe he won't dream?"

_13 year old RJ stuffed a handful of coins into the small alcove in the hay loft, adding it to his meager savings. He wasn't sure where he'd go or how he'd live once he got there, but he knew he had to get away from there. His uncle's drunken visits were getting more frequent and more violent and the boy was now fairly certain that if he didn't get away from there soon, he'd die there. He listened to the soud of the rain beating an erratic beat upon the roof and hoped it wouldn't leak too bad. He had few possessions, but those few he had were precious to him. Once he was sure his savings were secure, he started climbing back down the ladder. _

_"RJ," Bobby Nesmith staggered into the barn. "Hurry up an' git your ass down here, boy," he slurred drunkenly. "We need to talk." A slow, lecherous grin spread across his face as he said that, his eyes trailing slowly up and down the boy's long, slender frame, informing RJ that the last thing on his uncle's mind was talking. He shifted quickly as he reached the ground, keeping the ladder between himself and his uncle. "Don't make me chase you, boy, or I swear to God I'll kick your scrawny, good-fer-nothin' ass!"_

_RJ backed up a step toward the open barn door, certain his uncle would do that anyway, but doubted he'd get around the old rusted tractor and out before his uncle could catch him. Drawing a slow, deep breath, he looked around for anything he might be able to use as a weapon, then braced himself for the fight he knew was coming. _

_"Git your ass over here!" Uncle Bobby yelled. "I'MMA MAKE YOU BLEED LIKE HELL if you don't GIT YER ASS OVER HERE!"_

_The boy knew better than to argue. He also knew better than to obey. Experience had told him long ago that there was no way around hurting and bleeding when his uncle got like this anyway, and it only got more violent and painful the older he got. Instead, he took another step backwards, prompting the man to bellow, "DON'T YOU TRY TO RUN, DAMMIT!" _

_Rushing forward, the drunk slammed into the boy, pushing him back against the tractor, bouncing his head against the rusted relic once, twice, three times until the youth saw stars. _

_"I warned you, you little bastard," He man hissed into the boy's ear before punching him in the stomach, laughing as the boy doubled over, gasping for air. _

_RJ knew that if the man got his arms around him that was it. He couldn't run, meaning he had only one option left. He drew a breath ragged breath, straightened and head-butted his uncle as hard as he could, blood spurting from the man's nose as he pushed him back off of him. The man fell backward, screaming threats and curses at the boy, lunging for the youth's legs when he turned to run again. He pulled RJ down to the ground by his ankle, twisting it until it gave a loud and sickening pop, and the boy cried out as he was dragged toward the drunk. RJ drew back his other leg and kicked the man as hard as he could on the point of his chin, blood pouring from the man's mouth and nose both now. RJ knew that if his uncle got a hand on him, this was likely the night he would die. That prompted the boy to crawl as fast as he could away from the man's reach before scrambling to his feet again, almost falling as the ankle protested supporting his meager weight. _

_"I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL KILL YOU, YOU SCRAWNY LITTLE BASTARD!" Bobby yelled, his voice sounding oddly thick as the blood continued to spurt from his nose and mouth. _

_The boy had no doubt he meant it. He acknowledged that fact with surprising resignation as he leaned against the tractor, supporting himself against it as he hobbled toward the door. As long as he could remember, he'd known that would be how things would eventually end. Even so, he wasn't ready to make it easy. He continued to limp painfully as quickly as he could, his head spinning dizzily as he made for the exit._

_Three steps from freedom he felt his head explode._

_Bobby's laughter faded in and out, no longer truly registering as the pain demanded his full attention. He couldn't seem to see anything but red for all the blood running into his eyes, and the hammering of his own heart drowned out any other sound, including his uncle's taunts. He couldn't seem to feel anything but the searing pain in his skull, a small mercy given that his uncle had no doubt moved on with their 'talk'. _

_The next thing he was aware of was the combined smell of clean damp air and fresh turned soil. He wondered vaguely if it was still raining, even as an odd heaviness seemed to weigh down upon him, pressing him into the soft damp earth. The smell of fresh turned soil grew stronger, then suddenly it was clinging to his nose, and it was in his mouth... _

_…he couldn't breathe…_

Davy gestured suddenly to the other two, as a low groan escaped their sleeping friend. "Mike," he said softly, hoping his friend would hear him. "Mike, it's okay. You're safe…" The strangled cry their friend emitted tore through the petite singer's soul. He shook the guitarists shoulder gently, pleading, "Wake up, Mike. Wake up."

A glance at the monitors showed that their friend's heart rate was steadily speeding up. His breathing was coming in ragged gasps. "Mike," Micky called out, pressing the call button for the nurse. "Come on, babe, slow it down and breathe."

Peter picked up the room phone and frantically dialed Doctor Parsons' number.

Paige rushed in, quickly assessed the situation, and flew into action. She placed an oxygen mask over Mike's face, directing Micky tersely, "Hold that for him," She set the level and moved to reset the pulse/ox monitor, giving her full attention to the readouts for a full minute before turning back to the others. "What happened?" she asked Davy as she moved him back out of the way, lowering the head of the bed while raising the foot of it, then grabbed up his chart. "Shit…never mind. I see what happened."

"He didn't ask for it. She just gave it in his IV. She didn't even tell him." Davy lamented.

Paige just nodded. "He'll be fine, we just need to get his vitals back where they need to be before other problems kick in again." She told them. Tapping Peter as he hung up the phone, she directed, "Go out there and ask Carol for a heated blanket and a warm saline IV bag for 217, then bring them here."

"Carol?" Peter asked, only half listening, his eyes locked on his friend's face, shaken by the tears that he saw there.

Paige blocked his view a moment. "She's at the nurses' station. Go now." She turned back to her patient. Rubbing the knuckles of her fingers in a circle against Mike's sternum, she ordered sternly. "Open your eyes, Michael. Open your eyes." He groaned, his breath hitching. "That's it. Wake up, now. Open your eyes, Michael."

Peter arrived with the blanket and saline bag as Michael's eyes fluttered open.

"There you are," Paige said, smiling softly. "I need you to try to slow your breathing, now, Michael." She was rewarded by the slightest nod of his head. The raven haired guitarist forced himself to take several slow, deliberate breathes. "Good, that's it." She took the IV bag from Peter and replaced the one hanging there with it, opening the line and giving the bag a squeeze. "I want you to replace his blanket with that one, Peter." She directed the blonde, who nodded quickly and did as he was told, oddly comforted by the soft sigh his friend rewarded him with as the warmth touched his skin.

"Mike?" Davy asked, moving back to his friend's side.

"m'okay," the Texan offered, struggling to keep his eyes open.

Davy reached a hand toward him, hesitating when Mike flinched, then carefully wiped the tears from his friend's face. "Course you are," he agreed softly.

Moments later, Mike laid completely still save for the shaking he couldn't seem to stop, his eyes having adjusting at last to the dim lighting in the room, trying to will away the last remnants of the dream.

"Hey, Mike," Peter began nervously. "Do you want some water?" He glanced toward Paige for approval. In answer, she poured the glass for him before resetting the drip rate on the IV.

Mike nodded, accepting the straw gratefully. "Thanks, Pete," he winced, his throat still feeling as if he'd tried swallowing an entire beach.

"It wasn't the same dream as the last one," Peter stated matter-of-factly, catching the look in his friend's eyes before he could avert them.

Davy gave his friend his full attention. "Want to talk about it?"

"We're all awake now, Michael, and it might help you stay that way awhile, until that stuff is out of your system, if you talked to us." Peter pointed out unnecessarily. "So if you wanted to we could all…."

Micky held up a hand, trying to forestall the others. "Maybe we should wait until his throat feels better." He suggested, having noticed his friends discomfort when he tried to speak.

"He said when we were all awake he'd talk to us about it," Peter reminded Micky, still convinced that talking could help Mike.

"And we could ask him any questions we wanted to about the rest of the stuff he never got around to telling us about himself," Davy added, still bothered that there'd been so much about his best friend that he'd never trusted him enough to share.

Micky shook his head, still unnerved by the sight of the tears soaking his friend's cheeks. "Yes, but, he needs to…"

"No, Mick, they're right. I said I would." Mike interrupted reluctantly. "You keep givin' me an out on this and I might keep takin' it." He accepted the straw Peter held out for him again, sipping a bit more of the cool water to sooth his raw and painful throat before nodding toward the three of them. " It'll do me good to focus on somethin', I s'pose. Go on. Ask your questions."

"You said the other morning that the dreams were usually about the day your…" Peter paused, torn between upsetting his friend and getting everything out in the open so he could help him. At Mike's encouraging nod, he barreled through, "your mother killed herself. But not always, you said. What else is it? What was this?"

Mike sighed as he considered how to explain. "Usually it's just what I already told you all. I wake up about the time she dies. Sometimes, though, there's the whole aftermath, with Mister Dooley, our neighbor, showin' up, and the police, and social services draggin' us all off. Or it's just other random…" he pursed his lips, trying hard to think of how to answer them. He'd told them he would, and he meant to. Even so, he found it harder than he thought it would be to open up about everything, even to those he trusted most. "Look, if I was to try to go through every nightmare, or even nightmare-worthy moment, it'd take longer'n any of us ought to waste on this, and it wouldn't change it. It's 'most always memories I'd rather not have goin' through my head, wakin' or sleepin'. Always put more stock in lookin' forward 'stead of back. Less chance of trippin' up that way."

"But if you never look back you don't know what's chasing you." Peter pointed out.

"Just figured if I moved forward fast enough it wouldn't matter," Mike answered softly, chocolate brown eyes filled with sorrow and fear. "long as it didn't catch me."

Davy placed a comforting hand upon his friend's arm, beginning to understand why he'd never shared any of it, even with him. "What was your plan if it did?"

Mike shrugged, his eyes fixed upon his hands which were folded upon the blanket. "The point of leavin' it all back there was for it to stay there." Suspiciously bright eyes turned heavenward as he blinked hard, willing himself to stay in control. Only one he'd achieved that again, did he speak again. " I ain't been down that way but once, for Gran's funeral, and I don't plan on goin' again, so there wasn't any reason to think it'd be an issue."

"Maybe you should," Peter suggested, the stunned and honestly fearful look Mike turned toward him, though he hid it quickly, prompted Peter to ask him, "When a nightmare scares me so bad that just talking about it doesn't put it to rest, what do you do?"

"I…" Mike began, but abruptly realized what it was Peter was getting at. He drew a deep breath in an effort to contain the panic that thought provoked. Once he was sure he'd succeeded, he addressed the blonde carefully. "No, Pete. This ain't like that at all. It ain't like lookin' in a closet or under a bed, or out a window. It wasn't no tree branch tappin' on the sill back there."

"He might be onto something," Micky offered, having caught that unfamiliar look in his friend's eyes as well. "Mike, maybe it's time. Maybe if you let yourself see that the nightmares back there are over, the ones you're having here will stop?"

"And maybe I'll wake up tomorrow to chop off my own hands." Mike mumbled, closing his eyes.

"It'd be hard to play guitar that way," Micky deadpanned.

"For what it's worth, I think they're right," Davy offered his friend without looking up. "when we went for your grandmother's funeral, we went to the graveside service and the lawyer's office, but we never went to any of the places you grew up. Maybe you need to."

Mike cringed, his jaw clenching and unclenching a moment. "Look, I…I'll think about it. Okay?"

The other three nodded. They couldn't really ask for more than that.

Mike's eyes closed, prompting Micky to give his shoulder a little shake. "Okay, how about when you were on the bandstand and you said you had to make all that range time count? What did you mean? What range time?"

"When I get up in the mornin', I go for a walk. You all know that. I take a walk, I pick up a paper, then come back and start makin' coffee and breakfast. No surprises, right?" Mike waited for their nods of affirmation, then continued. "Except I don't just go for a walk and pick up a paper and head back. I go for a walk, stop off at the firin' range down on Parkway for an hour, then I pick up the paper on the way back."

"Wait a minute, that doesn't make sense," Peter frowned. "You're usually making coffee when I get up at 6:30. What time do you go leave the house for your walk if you're shooting for an hour?"

" 'bout 4:30 most times." Mike answered, averting his gaze, trying not to see the expressions of shock and worry his friends were wearing. "Range opens up at five. I head to the news stand 'bout 6, then back home."

"Why?" Davy asked, his voice filled with dismay. "Why would you ever need to do that?"

Mike shrugged. "First it was t'make sure I could protect m'self and the little'uns. Then it was just t' keep up knowin' how. Case y'all ever needed protectin'." Davy noted the thickening of Mike's accent and knew that he was having a harder time with this than he'd admit.

"Mike, we don't any of us own a gun," Davy reminded him. "What good is knowing how to shoot if you don't…"

"I do." Mike answered, his voice beginning to take on a distant quality. "Locked up with m'gear at th'range." He sighed, his eyes closing.

"Open your eyes, Michael," Paige directed from where she remained, monitoring him and his vital signs closely. She was glad to hear him answering his friend's questions, but something in the subtext of his answers troubled her greatly. She nodded a greeting to Doctor Parsons as he entered, waving him over to her so she could fill him in without interrupting the boys too much, knowing that this conversation was already too long overdue.

Mike nodded, forcing his eyes open again. "Mr. Dooley started teachin' me t'shoot back when I was nine." He told his friends. " Didn't much like ma bein' gone t'work n'us bein' left to ourselves with…people…who might be drunk enough to come over there'n… hurt us." Mike shrugged, though he immediately regretted it when the pain tore through his side. He breathed carefully, "Then Aunt Kate give me on o'my own 'fore I left Texas."

"Why don't you keep it at home?" Peter asked, though the thought of having a gun in the house unnerved him more than he cared to admit. If it would make Mike feel safer, he'd learn to adjust.

"Same reason it ain't never been brought there," Mike answered, his voice soft as a sigh. "I seen what happened when someone had holda one in the wrong frame o'mind and it ain't worth riskin'."

"Then what's the point of owning one, and practicing with it and all of that?" Davy demanded, not quite seeing the logic.

Mike smirked, amused by his friend's indignation. "Guess it just helps push things back when they creep too close." He answered.

"You should have told us why you really wore the hat," Davy admonished, moving Mike's hair back from his face. "We should have known in case…"

Mike shook his head. "Ain't somethin' for anyone else to manage but me. No reason for you to need to know." He hesitated at the look in his friend's eyes before admitting, "'sides, if I told you, I mighta had to tell you how it happened, and I …" he shook his head again, his voice failing him. He wasn't ready to go into that one, even now.

"We know," Davy admitted. "We heard it through the wire." Mike's eyes widened in surprise, then closed for a moment. He was afraid to ask what else they'd heard, and, feeling abruptly far too exposed and vulnerable, found that it was suddenly much harder to meet their gaze.

"Mike…" Peter began timidly, waiting for Mike to look at him before he went on. "Can I…I mean. If it wouldn't make you too self conscious, do you think I could…" he gestured toward Mike's hair, causing the Texan to roll his eyes.

Reaching up with still shaking hands, Michael carefully pushed the hair back out of his eyes and parted it slightly, revealing a long jagged scar. Another part revealed yet another one. "Goes all th'way around." He told the blond. He tried hard not to flinch when Peter reached out, touching it lightly with his long fingers. Only when the blond bassist removed his hand did Mike let go of his hair, allowing it to fall back into place, obscuring his eyes from view.

"There's a lot back in Texas you need to face, Michael." Peter said softly. "When you're ready, though¸we'll go with you. We'll all help you face it together."

"not much chance o'that, shotgun," Mike answered wearily, trying hard to ignore Doc and Paige as they began readjusting monitors and leads. When he discovered he couldn't, he finally snapped. "Y'all think that could wait. It ain't like nobody'll notice if somethin's wrong here. I got m'self three dang babysitters right here in the room with me."

"Your friends are right, Michael." Doctor Parsons said at last, ignoring Mike's outburst. "It sounds like it's well past time for you to go back and put your demons to rest. Why don't you want to let them help you do that? You can't possibly prefer this."

"Don't matter what I prefer," Mike groaned, "I'll be workin' the next hundred years just to pay off these bills, nevermind silly little extras like rent and food."

"No you won't." Davy replied, looking at Mike guiltily. "I guess I forgot to tell you. There was a pretty sizable reward for capturing the Sandoval family. We'll be able to pay off your hospital bills and rent and everything and go to Texas and still do Christmas and our birthday this year with a bit left in savings even after all that."

"Maybe we can even find out where your brothers and sister are with some of it," Peter offered hopefully.

Mike squirmed a bit at that. "I don't need to do that."

Peter frowned. "Don't you want to know where…"

"I know where they are." Mike admitted. "Gran gave me their addresses and all the day 'fore I left home."

"Then why don't we go see them?" Davy asked.

Mike looked at him as if he'd suggested chopping off his own head. "They don't need me doin' that. They was happy when I seen'em. Christian was playing baseball, and Eli laughin' and runnin' 'round with his dad and Jen was all decked out for ballet. They was young enough to forget everything and move on and be happy. Last thing they needed was me comin' up remindin' em. " Davy opened his mouth to answer, but Mike held up a shaky hand. "Tell you what. You want me to go back to Texas and deal with everyone what knows what happened and ain't forgot, fine. I'll do it. But I ain't robbin' them o' there peace just so I can take back what ain't mine to have no more, alright?"

Davy hesitated a moment, then nodded, hugging Mike. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Mike patted him gently on the back. "Sorry, Tiny. I didn't mean to lash out at you. I just can't do that to them. "

"But you'll go to Texas and try to put the rest of this to rest?" Davy asked, hoping Mike wouldn't get angry again. Reluctantly, Mike nodded in agreement, though his stomach lurched at the thought.

"Maybe on our way back up from settling things we could even stop off and meet your Aunt Kate." Micky suggested, hoping that might make Mike a little more eager to do this.

"Yeah, and we could ride horses and everything," Peter grinned. Davy's eyes lit up at that thought.

Seeing their excitement, Mike couldn't refuse no matter how desperately he wanted to. "Sure, guys. We can do that, too."

"It's settled then," Doctor Parsons patted Michael's leg. "Once you're released from here, it's time for a vacation." He offered a gentle smile. "Meanwhile, you go on and try again to rest, now. I need to deal with a staffing issue, then I'll check back in to make sure you're resting comfortably. I expect we'll talk in the morning."

Mike nodded, letting his eyes close again, grateful for the excuse to escape his friend's newfound interest in him and his past.


	27. Chapter 27

_Chapter 27. Most Of It Is Weariness_

Micky, Davy and Peter arrived back from lunch to the sound of an ongoing disagreement between their friend and his doctor.

"I hear you, and I understand your reasons, son, but I can still guarantee you're not quite up to nearly as much as you think you are, and I'm just not convinced that letting you going home now is in your best interest. Now, I can't stop you, but I can do my level best to make you see reason." Doctor Parsons told his patient as he reviewed his chart and scowled, still ignoring the nurse who'd called him into the patient's room for the moment, as he'd already decided he'd rather address her part in causing this issue between himself and the boy after the patient was again more settled. This time, however, board willing, he intended to address her part more permanently. "I'll agree that starting to get you up and around is a good idea, but trying to do more than your body is ready for is not just foolish, it's dangerous." The doctor went on sternly, picking up the discarded IV line and waving it at the boy a moment before clamping it off and removing the entire thing, discarding it and hanging a fresh, sterile one in its place. "You're going to run out of veins if to put these in at the rate your going. You've just got to understand where your limitations are right now. If you're going to be up on your feet, and I'm not saying that you can't be at all, but you have to have someone with you in case you need a hand or possibly a wheelchair. Otherwise someone will be picking you up off the floor again." He shook his head, remembering the morning he'd found Mike in the elevator struggling just to remain conscious.

"Now, I was still on my feet then," Mike protested sheepishly, though he avoided eye contact in that moment, clearly remembering that moment as well.

"Barely. I was worried I'd be picking you up myself." the doctor growled, unwillingly amused by the boy's expression. "Now stop arguing and listen before you drive an old man to drink. You're going to feel weak or dizzy at times. The pain will get to be too much and you will need to stop and sit down and just focus on breathing your way through it, in case you were thinking our little moment in the elevator was going to be an isolated incident. This will likely be something you'll face awhile even after I do send you on your way. Injuries like this just take a damn long time to heal."

The nurse's eyes narrowed angrily at having that morning brought up again, still not over the fact that she'd caught so much paper over this fool whose care she'd been saddled with.

"I hear you, Doc, and I'm not tryin' to fight you on this," Mike protested, suddenly feeling cornered again. He remembered his promise to cooperate with his doctor and he wasn't trying to back out, but that didn't mean that he was willing to let anyone who felt like it do whatever the hell they wanted to him. More and more he was feeling as if the walls were closing in and nobody was noticing but him, other than a nurse who insisted on believing that feeling that way gave her license to strip whatever small amount of control over himself he had left from him completely. "I'm just goin' stir crazy just layin here so long. I'm not planning on going joggin' on the beach, but I do have a life I'd like to get back to. No harm in that."

"No harm? Son, have you honestly forgotten how close these boys came to losing you yet _again_ just a very short while ago? Hell, even Davy's going gray with all the worrying you've had them doing!" the doctor looked at him in disbelief, his words prompting Davy to raise a shocked hand to his hair and look to the others for confirmation. Micky shook his head quickly, patting Davy's arm in reassurance, as the doctor continued.

"I'm not going to push it that far again, dangit, I gave you my word I'd do like you said and I mean to. I'm just not understandin' why I can't do all this layin' around bein' useless just as easy at home." Mike growled, warring within himself between guilt and frustration. "And this," he gestured from the hovering, worried expressions surrounding him on one side to the angry expression being leveled at him from the other. "This is why. I just don't have any intention of sticking around here gettin' stared at like some zoo exhibit, especially not if we're talkin' weeks or months, whether we can afford it or not." He shot a stern look at Micky killing any protest. "It's already taken too long."

"It'll take however it takes, and until I'm sure you're not in any danger of reinjuring yourself, I just can't let you risk overdoing it. And see there's the biggest problem with you going home right now. You've pushed yourself beyond your limits a few too many times here recently, and it wouldn't help anyone for you to do it again." Mike glanced over at his friends, obviously thinking about what they were going through right now as Doctor Parsons wound down his spiel. "It's only been a few days since we finally started getting some good solid readings on those machines, son. I agree you're on the mend and I understand your impatience, but I don't think any of us are ready to let you risk yourself heading home just yet. Let's do this the right way. Let's get you up on your feet and moving around here where we can keep an eye on things first, make sure you're doing as well as you think you are, before you try leaving the party here on your own. "

"I knew I shouldn't have brought him any more clothes yet." Micky muttered to the other two, frowning.

The more the doctor spoke, the angrier Davy became at his friend. How could he consider leaving before the doctor cleared him again? Hadn't he learned anything from the last time? Only Micky and Peter's combined effort kept him still and quiet while the doctor finished chastising their friend. They'd get their shot at him when he was done, if it was necessary.

"You yourself said everything was lookin' much better. There wasn't any lastin' damage from the other night's extended rest, my vitals are stronger and I'm gonna be fine," Mike protested, despite knowing that the doctor had some valid points whether he actually wanted to admit it or not,"and I'm not gonna to push myself till I rip stitches or can't breathe again, so a repeat of what set me back here isn't likely, either," He shot a scathing look at the nurse as he reminded the doc of yet another reason being here might not be in his best interest, " 'Sides, I'll rest better in my own bed. That's apparently got to be just a huge concern here, seein' as how your nurse over there was so set on druggin' me up over it a second time whether I was willin' or not."

"Doctor, if I may," Grace offered in her own defense, having only just returned back to work following the last incident. She glowered at the young man in the bed, clearly blaming him for the fact she'd been suspended without pay for treating him in the first place. "Your own daughter noted in his file that he wasn't resting well prior to my ever being assigned to his case and suggested that sedation and possibly a psychiatric consult might not be out of order. Since you yourself already prescribed the sedative for him…"

"Which I'd already refused," Mike sighed, rubbing his eyes in weary exasperation.

Micky and Davy exchanged a look, mouthing _Daughter? _Peter's gaze, however, remained fixed on their friend.

"I see no reason not to administer it if it appears needed, which it did. His reaction was completely out of hand, so I did what I deemed necessary." The nurse concluded, ignoring Mike's interjection.

"What was that?" Davy asked, looking from the other two confused Monkees to the doctor, then whirling on the nurse. "What did you do now?"

"She called the hospital shrink in on me," Mike answered Davy reluctantly.

"The notation _Nurse Parsons_ left in the file read," the doctor stressed her name before he slipped on his glasses to quote directly from the file, '_Offer _sedative if ongoing sleep disruption persists. _Discuss_ _with Doctor Parsons_ the possibility of psych consult to help patient deal with trauma'. You missed a couple of steps again, Nurse Tomlin, at least one of which you've only just returned from suspension for missing the last time you were scheduled to tend to this patient." The doctor glowered at her before turning back to Mike. "I talked to Danvers just before I came in and we've agreed that, barring any obvious signs of depression or anxiety, which I've assured him wasn't the case, there was no reason for him to try fitting you into his already busy schedule unless you feel it's needed, son. Otherwise, it seems to me like you've got plenty of help dealing with trauma right here on hand."

"Doctor, the young man became belligerent and verbally abusive! He continues to refuse to rest as directed and when I attempted to assist him in doing so, " she looked ready to tear up as she concluded, "He threatened to shove the syringe up my…."

"Yeah, about that one," Mike had the good grace to appear ashamed, "I'm sorry. I admit I may have overreacted a bit. I'm just done with this whole bag. I like to know what's goin' into me and why before it's done. And if it's at all possible, I'd rather do it at home."

"Well, let's see about getting you up on your feet properly, first. Now, I want that IV put back in. Again. " Parsons tried another tact as Mike slowly shook his head. "You're still not going to want to try to take everything we've got going into you orally and I'm afraid we'll run out of veins if we try injecting them all separately. Pain meds, antibiotics to prevent infection, anti-emetics to settle your stomach, steroids to continue strengthening your lungs, nutritional supplements. You'll note that at least two of those are aimed at getting some healthy weight back on you, by the way. Just thought I'd mention that, since the kitchen staff is starting to take the condition of the trays you return to them personally. Anyway, it just makes more sense to keep that IV there right now." Parsons bit back an exasperated sigh when his young patient shook his head again. It seemed he wasn't willing to make this easy on anyone, himself included, this time. "Give in, let us put the IV back in and I'll agree that nothing gets put into it without making sure you understand what it is and agree to it from here out." Doc Parsons paused a moment, shooting a warning look at the nurse to make sure she understood that this wasn't just a suggestion, not that he expected this one to take any better than the last one did.

"That's nice and all, but it still don't change what I said," Mike replied. "I get it. I'm a pain in the ass, okay. I'm sorry. But I really do need to get out of here."

"All in good time. Meanwhile, seeing as you are finally on the mend, we can try this. Just to the armchair there for now. We'll try more after you've rested, but that'll do it for now." He reached over to one of the cots and picked up the pillow from it, offering it to Mike. "Roll that up and hold it against your stomach, and let your friends help you up. That's rule one to you getting onto your feet right now. Someone helps you up. We're gonna go nice and easy, but this is still gonna hurt, no way around it. It shouldn't hurt anywhere near as much as what you just tried likely did, but it will still hurt."

All three hurried forward to help, bumping into each other in the process. Finally the doctor's scowl halted them and Micky stepped forward to render assistance.

"You, too," Parsons motioned for Peter to step over to the other side of Mike's bed, prompting Davy to grumble, "It's because I'm short, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." Parsons answered simply before turning back to his patient. "Now, we're giving you pain meds, but you've already noticed that you occasionally need something more. This is no exception. On a scale of one to ten, with one being no pain and ten being the worst pain you ever felt, the pain may well be right up in the five or six range easily. It shouldn't be unbearable, though. You say something if it's more than you can manage." Catching Davy's expression, the doctor added, "Your friends'll be watching you to make sure you're not trying to handle more than they think you ought to be, too. If we decide you're taking something more for pain, or that it's time to stop, or both, you just do like we say for now and don't argue. Humor us. Understood?" At Mike's reluctant nod, Parson's directed Peter and Micky in how to help Mike up and onto his feet. "Easy now. One …two…three…" He watched Mike critically for any sign this was more than he could handle. No question the young man was experiencing some very real discomfort, but he seemed to be handling it well enough. Still, he felt it important to ask, "Too much?"

Mike shook his head, but didn't say anything for a moment. Finally blowing out a breath softly, he replied, "Nah, I'm good. Let's go."

"Good. Very good." Parsons nodded, smiling. He'd suspected as much. The boy wasn't going to back down now that he'd made his mind up. "Now, you boys just escort him to that chair right there, while nurse Grace and I go have ourselves a little chat."

Davy watched them go as Micky and Peter got Mike settled, then wheeled on his friend. "You were going to try to leave again."

"I was only goin' as far as the lounge out there. I just needed outa her reach." Mike sighed. "She came at me with that damn syringe and I just lost it, Tiny. I'm sorry."

The petite singer frowned. "I'm sorry, Mike. One of us should have stayed with you." He sat on the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around his friend's shoulders. "We didn't think she'd try that again."

Mike shrugged, but made no effort to extricate himself from his friend's embrace. "It's alright. I figured I'd come back when y'all did, and 'till then I could use a little room to breathe." He looked at them all sheepishly. "I'm goin' a little stir crazy here."

"Nah," Micky deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "We hadn't noticed, had we guys."

"But Micky, you said at lunch that Mike was…"Peter began before smiling his dimpled smile as he caught on. "Nope. Not at all."

"Well, just try to follow the rules a bit longer," Davy admonished, "And we'll get you home alright."

Mike half smiled, nodding his agreement. Home was sounding awfully good.

"And then we can go to Texas," Peter enthused.

The smile faltered as Mike groaned. "Right Pete. Then we can go to Texas."


	28. Chapter 28

authors note: For the events when they first arrive at the ranch, refer to "Monkees In Texas" episode. :) This chapter sort of dances around it. Sorry for the delay w/ posting. I've had some health and personal issues getting in the way of my writing time. I'll try to get chapters up a little faster if I can from here out. Thanks so much for bearing with me. :)

_Chapter 28. Now My Path Heads Home_

By the time Doctor Parsons decided Mike could go home two weeks later, Mike's patience was wearing so thin as they waited for the final paperwork that would set him free that, despite his most valiant efforts, he was starting to snap.

"Would you all just stop fussin' over me for five minutes. Please!" he finally growled in exasperation.

"Sorry, Mike," Peter frowned. "We were just trying to make sure you were comfortable."

"Right, mate." Davy agreed. "You looked like you needed a hand."

Micky finished adjusting a throw across Mike's lap anyway, then stepped back when the Texan glared in his direction. "I. said. .fine." he hissed through clenched teeth. "Thank you."

"I know," Micky grinned. "But you looked like you might be a little chilly and we don't want you catching anything, right guys?"

"Oh, right," Davy smirked, glancing toward Peter, whose dimpled smile was refusing to stay hidden.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Cute, guys. Real cute."

When Paulo brought in the paperwork, everyone was ready to jump for joy, but none more than Michael.

"Let's get you home." Davy said, offering Mike the pillow, which he promptly tossed aside.

"Michael, don't make me forget to discharge you." Paulo warned, handing him the pillow again, tucking the paperwork back into the file he held in his hands and frowning.

Mike rolled his eyes again, rolled up the pillow and gingerly stood, glaring at the offered support.

"You're supposed to let them help you," Paulo ventured, though he could tell he was treading on dangerous ground.

"I have been. They've been helping me stand up, and helping me sit down, and helping cover me up, and helping uncover me, and helping to bring my food tray, and…"

"helping to eat the food on the tray," Micky supplied helpfully.

"And helping me finish my sentences," Mike glared, causing his three best friends to giggle helplessly.

"That is a lot of helping," Paulo smirked, trying hard not to join in the laughter.

"Just gimme the dang papers and let me go home, will you, Fish?" Mike finished in exasperation.

There was silence for a moment before Paulo exclaimed,_ "_You did remember me!"

"Not right at first." Mike answered, blowing out a slow breath against the discomfort then reaching out for the papers again_. _"You ain't as short and gawky anymore. Sides, it was hard to place you without your fishin' pole. "

"Yeah, well you got taller, too. I didn't think that was possible." Paulo laughed. "And for the record, I HATE fishing." Mike looked down, smiling, as Paulo handed over the forms. "Here. Sign wherever I put an X and make sure to follow the care plan Doctor Parsons gave you. Including the parts you could use more practice at, like that whole accepting help thing. Got it?"

"Yeah, I dig,"Mike sighed. There was silence for a moment while he signed each page, then handed them back, telling the others_. _"Let's get on with it."

They made their way out to the Monkeemobile and Mike headed for the driver's side, only to find his way blocked by Micky. "Uh-uh," the curly haired drummer insisted. "Not yet. Doctor Parsons was very clear about all of this. We got it, even if you decide you didn't. You've got shotgun."

Mike considered arguing for a moment, then realized that it wouldn't do any good and simply surrendered, moving carefully around to the passenger side of the car. If pressed, he'd have been forced to admit he wasn't sure he was up to driving yet, either. He was finally to the point where he no longer required constant pain medication to manage the discomfort, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't need it if he pushed it or that there wasn't any discomfort left by any stretch of the imagination.

The ride home was filled with questions about Texas and excitement about the upcoming trip, shared among all within the vehicle save one. Mike would have rather been shot again than face the thought of returning to the place he left all those years ago. By the time they arrived at the pad he was nearly sick to his stomach at the thought of having to go back there. Davy place a hand on his shoulder to keep him still while Peter and Micky filed out and hurried around to help him from the car.

"We packed a few things already, but we weren't sure what you'd want to take with you," Davy told Mike.

"I'll pack it up for you if you want to tell me what you'll need," Micky offered.

Peter, so excited he was almost bouncing, suggested. "Why don't you rest while we load everything up, then we can get on the road?"

_I can't do this._ Mike thought desperately. _What made me think I could do this?_

"Look, guys, maybe we should wait until I'm up to driving us around?" he asked, hoping to postpone the trip at least a little longer.

"No dice, Mike," Micky disagreed, though not unsympathetically. "You said it yourself; if we keep giving you an out you'll keep taking it, right?"

Mike blinked in surprised then frowned, looking away as he nodded curtly. Yes, he supposed, he would. "Well…uh…let's stop at Aunt Kate's first, then. Maybe the first part of our visit'll be pleasant enough that way."

Micky nodded his agreement and went to pack whatever he thought he and Mike might need.

"Relax while we load the car," Davy repeated gently. He knew well enough how hard this was for Mike. He'd been so uptight and nervous during the trip for his grandmother's funeral he'd been sick to his stomach

Peter hurried to help Micky pack a bag for Mike and load up their luggage and instruments, his expression clouded with concern, as Mike eased himself into a chair.

_You agreed to this,_ Mike reminded himself despondently. _There's no backing out now._

Half an hour later they were loaded up again and setting off for Texas. The closer they got, the worse the feeling in the pit of Mike's stomach. They made frequent stops to allow Mike to rest comfortably, knowing that the ride was taking a lot out of him. In the end it took 3 days just to reach New Gallifrey.

"You'll need to park the Monkeemobile in the town garage and take horses up to Aunt Kate's from here." Mike sighed as they pulled onto Main Street. "I'll find Mister Chambers. He runs the stables and ..."

"Mike," Davy interrupted. "You barely managed the car ride. How're you going to do on a horse?"

"I been riding most of my life, Davy, I think I can manage." Mike replied, rolling his eyes. Hoping to lighten the mood, he added, "'Sides, I just took that stuff for pain. I'm pretty sure by the time he gets them saddled up I won't be feeling much of anything."

"I still think we should go up some other way. A horse is going to jostle you an awful lot," Davy pressed, though he smiled at the thought of how silly Mike sometimes got on the new pain pills Doc Parsons prescribed. "Didn't you say before that Mister Chambers rented out golf carts, too? It would be easier to take ourselves and our things up that way, don't you think?"

"He's right, Mike," Peter agreed softly. "Let's just get a cart. Please?"

Mike considered their point a moment and nodded. "Okay, then, but I'm driving the cart."

"Now wait a minute, Mike, you know what Doc said about…." Micky began to argue.

"It ain't a car it's a cart and it'll be easier to let me handle it than you have you trying to navigate around all the little drops on the way up. Last thing we need is to get stuck somewhere on the way up and have to hoof it the rest of the way. We'll be hours trying to get up there that way and won't nobody know to come looking for us since we didn't call and tell her we was on our way." Mike insisted. "Better to be up there before nightfall so we don't run into any wild visitors."

The other three reluctantly agreed. Twenty minutes later they were loading their belongings into a cart and heading up to visit Aunt Kate. It didn't take long for them to realize they'd walked right into the middle of a major problem. Mike handled the leadership duties as he often did, but Micky, Pete and Davy realized quickly that they'd have to help a bit more if they wanted Mike to take any room to breathe at all, so they all stepped in as well as they were able. Davy took on the job of helping Mike protect the ladies and their land while Micky and Peter went for help. Pete couldn't quite bring himself to take up arms along with the rest, but he was brave and determined in his efforts nonetheless. By the time night fell, the bad guys were defeated and Mike's aunt was on her way to being very wealthy. That didn't seem to change her demeanor toward her nephew and his friends one bit.

"Lucy's gone to start supper. I 'magine you're all half starved after that long drive and all the excitement. We never did see you all greeted proper." Aunt Kate told them. To Davy, Micky and Pete, she added. "We owe you all a real debt of gratitude for all your help today, and for seein' to Michael up to this point, too."

"It was our pleasure, ma'am," Davy smiled winningly, exuding the charm that always won him all the girls attention.

Peter nodded. "We were happy to help."

"Mike's had our backs enough times," Micky agreed. "It's only been recently that we've been able to do the same for him."

"That ain't how I heard him tell it," Aunt Kate disagreed, though she seemed pleased by their responses. "Mike's always said how you three been better than his own kinfolk to him."

"MIKE, YOU'RE BACK!" A dark haired young woman exclaimed as she bounded in before they could respond, interrupting them as she ran to hug Mike so tightly he gasped for air.

"Clara Nesmith, let loose o'that boy 'fore you break him, now. Go set the table and show his friends where to wash up," Aunt Kate scolded. "Mike and I got us a lot to talk about."

Mike looked down at shaking his head as Clara ushered the other three out. "No, ma'am, not really." He answered quietly, suddenly far more tired than he thought he was.

Pressing Mike into a chair, Kate asked him gently but sternly. "You been a long time between visits, and longer between details, young man. Why didn't you ever tell me how bad it was?" She sat down across from Mike and took his hands in hers. "For years I listened to you talk about how hard he made things for you, but you never, ever said that he…" her eyes filled with tears. "You should have told me all of it, Michael."

"Why?" Mike asked seriously without looking up. "What could you have really done different? You and Aunt Flo was friends so long, there ain't no way you didn't know what he was. You told me yourself how you and Uncle Clyde came back this way to your family's land to keep your girls away from him and the rest. And how you cared for Ma when she came here to get away from him and to birth me, right?"

"Well, yes, but I never thought…" Kate began, hurt clear in her eyes at the realization of how badly she'd failed him.

"It don't matter, Aunt Kate." he sighed, finally raising his gaze at last to meet hers. "You helped me get away from it, and even if you hadn't…well, I still don't guess it'd matter anyway. It's done now."

Kate shook her head, but let it drop, "Alright, Michael." She said at last, patting him on the shoulder. "You're tired now. I understand. Let's get you and your friends fed and settled in for the night. We'll talk about this in the morning."

Mike opened his mouth to argue, only to be silenced by his aunt's stern expression. "I said," she reiterated, "we will talk more in the morning. Now you go on and relax some 'til suppers ready."

Recognizing that expression from his childhood, Mike nodded, answering meekly. "Yes, ma'am." He rose and made his way for the door, thinking that some fresh air and a few minutes away from the questions would suit him better than sitting there did.

"Don't you set foot off that porch, boy. This ain't no time o' night to be wanderin'. You and your friends best bring your appetites when I call, too. Don't you dawdle, and don't think you're gettin' up from that table 'fore you cleaned your plate, either, young man." She warned him, needing to make sure he understood that she wasn't intending to fail him again. "You're lookin' 'bout as skinny as you was the last time you visited, and you know I ain't havin' none of it."

Mike smirked, remembering the last time he'd heard that warning. "No, ma'am." he surrendered, "I don't suppose you are."


	29. Chapter 29

_Chapter 29. Did You Know…_

Mike crashed almost as soon as dinner was over, after having been too tired to do more than push the food around the plate. He was surprised to find Aunt Kate was understanding, urging him to just go on to bed, though not without a warning that he'd be expected to do better in the morning. He awoke the next morning to the sound of the crowing rooster and his aunt's voice speaking in hushed tones to his friends.

"I shoulda known," she admitted sadly. "His mama, Florence and me met at camp when we was all 12. Flo and her sisters were all there, but I didn't meet the twins 'till that summer ended. Flo, Bette and me all shared a cabin, though. We was tight as could be by the time that summer was over. So when Flo's brother Clayton – his friends called him Clyde, but his given name was Clayton, God rest his soul – started courtin' me and her brother Warren – Ren, most folks call him – started after Bette we was all thrilled. We was all pleased as punch at the idea we was all gonna be kin."

Mike laid back, unwilling to join them just yet. This was a tale he'd heard before and the last thing he was ready to do was to be involved in the telling.

"Bette's ma passed on and her and her Pa was on the verge of losin' their homestead when Ren come swoopin' in," Aunt Kate went on. "Her pa bought up a little place in the big city sight unseen and packed her up, thinkin' he was movin' her closer to her future. He took Ren for someone who was gonna take care of her no matter what. He passed on not long after that from some sort of snake bite or some such – I never was real clear what got him – never knowin' what kind o' man he married his girl off to."

Mike wondered for the billionth time what kind of life his ma would have had if she'd never married his father. Would she have met someone who'd have been good to her like she deserved?

"We knowed up front what Bobby did to young girls, there was proof enough of that all over town," Aunt Kate's voice grew heavy with emotion as she continued. "That's why Clayton took me and come back here, outta his reach when he got sent to war. We didn't even spare a thought for poor Bette when Ren went off, too. She come running to me so upset and big with child. I just had me my first. That dark haird'un you met. Clara. Ain't never growin' up, I swear." She shook her head, smiling softly, then went on. "She had twins. A boy and a girl. I was sent out to the well gettin' more water when the midwife delivered the second. By the time I come back in, she done wrapped her poor little body up and sent her off with her assistant. She thought it would be too much on poor Bette to see the poor thing on top of everything else she'd just been through. The birthing had been so difficult for her. I always thought she ought to have, though. Bette was so sure she heard that baby cry. I swear, I halfway believed her by the time she got done. She was just so sure. She needed to see the body so she'd know for herself that her girl was gone."

Mike shuddered at the thought. If his mother had been right and that other baby had been alive when it was taken from the room, he might have a sister out there somewhere he'd never met. He wondered idly if she existed, would she have felt as alone and afraid growing up as he had.

"What about everything his uncle did to him growing up?" Mike heard Micky ask softly. "How did you not know about that?"

Aunt Kate seemed to pause before answering, and Mike wondered if maybe it wasn't time to get up and put a stop to the discussion now. A hand on his shoulder kept him where he was, though. Glancing over, he spied his cousin Clara with her finger pressed to her lips. "You should let them do this," she told him softly. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on you and fetch you down to breakfast when you wake up. So lie still, and I'll do that once they're done talking, okay?" Seeing his reluctance, she pressed gently, "You should hear this, RJ . Mike, I mean. It's time now."

"Bette never said anything about him at all after folks swore she was lyin' sayin' he took her like he did, and by the time RJ could talk, he never said anything more than he didn't like havin' him around the kids at first." Aunt Kate attempted to explain. "All three of the spinsters – Florence, Edna and Ethel – all said how she'd poisoned the boy's mind against his kin and how RJ was prone to tales. After Bette …"she paused, getting choked up a moment, then continued, "After she passed on and the children were split up, RJ come to me for a summer. He didn't say much. Mostly stayed with Clara and left Lucy and me to ourselves less I told him to help. I tried talkin' to him some, but he was fierce quiet. Angry. Felt guilty, like he done pulled the trigger and not his ma. Weren't much talkin' to him then 'cept to let him know I knowed it weren't his fault what happened even if he didn't, and that I was here if he needed me. After he went back, I heard about this accident or that fight he'd get into. To hear them tell it, the boy wasn't nothin' but trouble. I couldn't quite believe that though. I knowed how helpful he was to Bette, and I knowed how good he if I needed him, so it didn't add up. I weren't there to see for myself and the boy didn't confirm or deny nothin', though. He didn't tell me much 'sides it him and Bobby didn't get along and he wasn't wanted there. Tried tellin' me once he was afraid there. Said somethin' 'bout bein' sure he'd die there, and I didn't hear him. I weren't in no position to take on another child for good, so I didn't listen. Not really. I should have." Mike could hear her sniffling and made to rise again, only to find Clara's hand pressing still pressing him back.

"Let her get through this now," Clara urged him. "You know when you and she try this you'll just end up cutting her off and comforting her and brushing it all aside same as always. You need to hear this, though. Just once. Just so you know where she really stood on it all."

"I tried to get him to tell me again later, after I thought about it and knowed it wasn't somethin' he'd'a said if it wasn't weighin' on him. He wasn't ever the type to talk just to be talkin'. He just brushed it off, though. Said it weren't nothin' and he was sorry for botherin' me with it the first time." Kate sniffled again. "I talked to my mother in law 'fore she passed and she told me how hard Bobby was on the boy. She didn't tell me everything he done, but she told me he was prone to the strap if the boy stepped outta line at all. Said he hurt him all kinds o' ways, but I didn't understand. I was thinking discipline. I wasn't thinkin' she meant…" she cleared her throat. "She made me promise to help him get out as soon as he was ready, and I done that. I done all I could to keep him gone, too. He took to callin' me 'ma' as often as 'aunt kate' when he called 'cause o' some o' what I done to help him stay out that way." After a moment, she concluded softly, "I should have known what he gone through. The stories didn't add up so many times to explain how he was hurt. I should have known. "

Mike shook his head, pushing Clara's hand away. "That's enough now," he sighed, making to rise. He groaned softly, prompting her to help him the rest of the way up. "I got it," he protested to no avail as she settled him on his feet.

Smirking, the dark haired girl looked at him sternly. "Right. And I'm a Texas Prairie Chicken." She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek before hurrying to the kitchen. "Ma, Mike's awake now."

"Good," Aunt Kate's voice was accompanied by the shuffling of chairs. "Y'all go wash up now. Lucy, finish setting the table. We'll have breakfast as soon as he joins us."

Mike moved through the kitchen and straight out to wash up at the pump alongside the others, smirking as the others protested the icy water, having already steeled himself for it. "Come on, now. It ain't that bad." He said, rolling his eyes as the others carried on.

"You must be joking! That's bloody cold!" Davy protested.

Before Mike could discover that for himself, Aunt Kate had a hand on his shoulder. "You'll wash up inside young man. I heated some water up a bit for you. It won't do any good you catching your death after all you done been through." He glanced apologetically at his friends, only to find them waving him off.

"Go on. You heard her." Peter pressed gently as Davy nodded encouragingly.

Micky grinned and pushed, "We can't eat until you're washed up so get to it. I'm starved!"

Mike rolled his eyes, smirking as he sighed.

"Don't you stand there rolling your eyes, young man. Go on. You heard'em." Aunt Kate insisted as she steered him bodily toward the house. "You boys hurry up. Food'll be gettin' cold at this rate."

By the time the other three had rejoined them at the table, Lucy and Clara had set out the full spread. Platters of bacon, sausage, eggs, potatoes, biscuits and country gravy, all in ample amounts, were set out for them to enjoy. Kate led everyone to join hands and said a blessing over the food before moving to get the orange juice while everyone dug in.

"What's wrong, Mike, don't you like my cookin' no more?" Lucy asked, pouting petulantly as the lanky young man took a small helping of eggs and a biscuit.

"His stomach's still a mite testy," Clara pointed out. "He'll try a bit more, just let him get that down first without it unsettling too much." She smiled at Mike, acknowledging his grateful expression. "Mama said he'd be spending a few days here to rest and recuperate among his own for moving on up to the city."

"Why can't we go to the city with him?" Lucy asked her mother as she rejoined them at the table.

Kate considered that carefully, then nodded. "Mayhap we should. Someone's gonna need to keep the spinsters in line and I'm not sure you're up for it, boy." She told Mike, her tone surprisingly gentle. At his look of surprise, she took his hand and explained. "Your friends and I had us a nice long talk while you was restin', Mike. Somethin' I hear tell you'll still need plenty of, thanks to what Bobby and Ren and their friends done to you. Sounds like just the tip o' the iceburg on that one and we're still gonna have to talk it out, you and me, but you need to know that whether you decide you're ready to do it now or you still need time, I am so sorry, and I am on your side. I didn't always show you that clear enough and I reckon I owe you for that. I really do. They say you're up here to finally lay some o'them demons to rest, though, and that's a good thing. So, I aim to make sure don't none of them three decide to help out the side of the demons." She patted his hand again, then piled more food on his plate. "Try to get that down, boy. You're too dang skinny. All of you," she said, as much to give Mike a moment out of the hotseat as to admonish her guests, "Take more. You are all too thin. I expect to see it all put away, now. Go on. Eat up. Maybe once you're done Mike and Clara can show you three boys down to Melody Pond . It's right peaceful this time o' the morning. Maybe not as good as the ocean, but I think it'll suit you well enough for now. Lucy and I can handle clean up. " Blonde haired Lucy opened her mouth to argue, but snapped it shut without uttering a sound when her mother turned that stern gaze in her direction.

Micky, Davy and Peter exchanged a look and grinned. Nobody needed to tell them twice. They all piled more food onto their plates, offering wholehearted thanks at the thought of full stomachs and restful surroundings, if only for awhile.

"We can all help with clean-up first," Mike offered, feeling as if someone should for Lucy's sake.

"You'll do no such thing, young man," Aunt Kate scolded. "You and I both know how ugly the visit with the spinsters is gonna be. So you're gonna relax and enjoy it here a few days before headin' up to see, and you're gonna let us see to you and your friends like we're supposed to, and you're gonna leave off the arguin'. You're gonna just do as I say. Is that clear? "

Mike looked down as his friends snickered, waiting for it to die down before finally offering a quiet, "yes, ma'am," at last.


	30. Chapter 30

_Chapter 30. There's a Smile On the Wind_

Clara and Mike led the other three boys on the long trek across the uneven land that made up Aunt Kate's farm. At the back of Aunt Kate's property was a large, deep pond, surrounded by grass and large, uneven boulders, and shaded by a large weeping willow tree from which someone had hung a rope swing that could be used to propel themselves out over the water. Arriving at last, Clara nudged Mike before pointing to the swing and smiling.

"Remember when we hung that up there?" she asked him expectantly.

Mike just shrugged, rubbing his temple idly. "What I remember is Aunt Kate fixin' to tan both our hides for coming home soaked through in our Sunday best right when the Preacher Gibbons was due."

Clara giggled helplessly at that. "Oh yeah, I forgot that part…"

"And then you went and pointed out that I was the only one of us near tall enough to reach the branch…" Mike reminded her.

"…conveniently leaving out that I'd climbed the tree to tie the rope myself…" Clara cringed, still smiling. "Oh yeah. Sorry about that."

Mike laughed in spite of himself. "It's fine…"

"… to be fair, though," Clara giggled again, "it was your rope."

"What was he doing with it if you guys didn't plan to do this ahead of time?" Peter asked, setting the guitar case he'd slung on his back against a boulder and testing the strength of the rope.

"It was my belt!" Mike answered, laughing harder.

Clara put her arms around Mike's waist. "You was always too skinny."

Davy frowned, eying the length of knotted rope suspiciously. "That's a lot of rope to go around a skinny 12 year old's waist." He pointed out.

"He had doubled into half and half and half again, then knotted it over and over to make it shorter and sturdier. Looped it end through end and tied it off to keep is jeans up, and it still only barely did." Clara answered without letting go of her cousin. "Mama wanted to get him a real belt when he first come to us, but he wouldn't do it." She smirked. "Leastways not 'till I made him use that rope for something else." She winked as Mike shook his head.

"Shoulda known you had something more up your sleeve." Mike muttered, looking down at the top of her head. "No wonder you suggested it."

"I might have suggested it, but you dared me to actually climb up there and do it," Clara reminded him, squeezing him gently as she looked up into his dark eyes and grinning.

"Yeah, then you made sure to blame me for it," Mike squeezed back, rolling his eyes and smiling, unable to even pretend to be angry at his tiny cousin over her part in the long ago moment. "You was always kind of an imp, you know."

"Yeah, well, I learned one thing from you, you lug," Clara's grin grew wider.

"Oh yeah?" Mike asked as the other three groaned, sensing a trap. "What was that?"

The tiny brunette stood on tiptoe to stage whisper in her cousin's ear, "Watch out for the quiet ones." Causing Mike to throw back his head and laugh.

"Okay," he conceded with a wink, "I guess we learned that from each other, didn't we?"

Micky's eyes sparkled as he, Davy, and Peter all laughed as well, exchanging a pleased look with one another. It was nice to hear Mike laugh again, he thought.

"Yeah, well, she weren't fooled was she," Clara punched Mike in the shoulder. "We was both sent on to bed without supper for that one."

"She still brought up a sandwich and milk," Mike admitted quietly. "Said I was too skinny to go skipping meals no matter how much I deserved it."

"Now, that just ain't right at all," Clara protested halfheartedly, still smiling. "I didn't get a sandwich. I knew she liked you best."

"Still does," Lucy announced trekking toward them with a large basket, covered by a blanket. "She sent food and told me to make sure he ate it." Spying Davy, she added softly, "And the rest of you, too, of course."

Davy rushed forward quickly, eyes locked on hers. "Can I help you with that," he asked, reaching for the basket without breaking eye contact to do it.

Lucy returned his gaze, smiling softly, a hint of color rising to her cheeks. "Sure." She replied, unable to tear her gaze away.

"You're lovely," Davy offered, taking her hand gently in his.

"So are you," Lucy batted her lashes coquettishly.

"Whoa! Now hold on there, " Mike exclaimed, stepping forward to take the basket from Davy with one hand, and steer his young bandmate away from the petite blonde girl with the other. "That there's my baby cousin. You don't look. You don't think about looking. You don't even look like you're thinking about looking. Got it?"

"Sure, Mike," Davy answered, his brow furrowed. "Sure."

"Gee, Mike. You'd think he was tryin' to spirit me off to the barn or somethin'," Lucy protested, pouting. "We was just bein' friendly."

"Yeah, tha's right," Davy agreed, turning back toward Lucy, his voice taking on a dreamy quality once again as he repeated, "We were just being friendly."

"Not with my baby cousin, you're not," Mike warned, causing the others to burst into laughter.

"Easy there, big fella," Clara placed a hand on Mike's arm. "You do realize she's not really a baby anymore, right?" though she shot a look at her sister and warned, not quite soto voce, "And we don't want no more of'em, neither," prompting more snickers from Micky and Peter.

Davy shook his head and moved to spread the blanket out underneath the willow tree.

"Sit yourself down there, Michael," Clara directed. Seeing him ready to protest, she shot him a look that would have done her mama proud. "Resting and relaxing, wasn't that what mama said? Or do I need to run fetch her to clarify that for ya?"

Ignoring the ongoing mirth of his bandmates, Mike sighed, rolling his eyes again, but sat down on the blanket, stretching his long legs out and settling his back against the base of the tree. Truth be told, the walk from the farmhouse to the pond had tired him more than he'd have admitted, but something in Clara's eyes suggested she'd already realized that. Not for the first time he realized she was far brighter than her ma or anyone else ever bothered giving her credit for.

"Hey, Peter," Clara called, holding out her hand. The blonde bassist opened the guitar case he'd set aside and settled Mike's guitar into her waiting grasp, then smiled when the tiny young woman knelt beside Mike, placing the twelve string acoustic into his lap. "There you go," she said softly. Mike shook his head, trying to ignore the way Peter was looking at Clara. Clara, however, wasn't ignoring it at all. "He's kind of cute, isn't he?" she whispered to Mike, dashing off before he could reply.

"Oh..oh hey, Mike…" Peter's eyes went wide, derailing any protests the tall Texan might have made.

"yeah, Pete?" Mike asked curiously as he picked out a simple melody.

"Mike!" Peter repeated.

"Yes, Peter," Mike prompted more insistently, a hint of a smile touching his lips, setting the guitar to the side to make it clear to the bassist that he now had his complete attention.

"I almost forgot," Peter knelt next to the guitar player, pulling an envelope from his pants pocket. "I checked the mail before we left California."

"Okay…" Mike prompted again, reaching for the envelope. Noting the lack of a return address, he frowned, wondering who it might be from.

"it doesn't say who sent it," Peter pointed out as if reading Mike's mind. "Who do you think it's from, Mike?"

"Well, if you'll let me get it open, I might just tell ya," Mike replied, before glancing up at Clara and noting that she wore a fond smile much like his own. He narrowed his eyes only to have her smile widen. Unlike most people, she wasn't at all intimidated by him and they both knew it. Mike's smile faded as he took in the carefully printed letters on the first piece of paper.

**Dere Mikle, the letter read. Momy and me mis you vere vere much. We wish yoo were here, but I cant tell you where it is sins yoo ar not. Momy ses it is agenst the rules. I go to a new skool I hav a new name but I mis my old skool and my own name. I hav new frends but it I stil wish yoo were here. I no momy dus to. I told my frends about yoo but they dont believe yoo are reel. They say nobode can be like yoo. They think yoo ar pretend. Maybe yoo can visit us one day? I hope so. I luv yoo. Luv, Lucy.**

His eyes suddenly suspiciously bright, Mike pulled a second page from where it was carefully tucked into the envelope behind the first and unfolded it to read:

_My dearest Michael,_

_As much as I could say I'm sorry, I can't find it in myself to regret meeting you that day in the rain. It was the first time in a very long time my daughter or I had been treated with any sort of kindness or consideration. It brought me such hope. Thank you for that, and for every moment of every day that followed. I hope you'll forgive me for saying that I can't even regret too terribly your becoming ill, as it gave me a chance to repay in some small way that kindness. Selfish, I know, but I can't help it. I need to tell you something, though, and I hope that you'll believe me this time, and reread these words when you find yourself doubting it from now on: You are most definitely not tangential, Michael. Not in the least. The more I learned of you, the more convinced I became that you never were, no matter how hard the evil ones in your life tried to convince you otherwise. You certainly aren't now. Not to my daughter, or to me, or to the friends who are no doubt there beside you this very moment. And one more very important thing. I know I shouldn't be saying this at all. It isn't proper, and for that you really must forgive me, but I have to tell you now in case I don't get to write to you again, since it's technically against all of the rules, and I probably won't get the chance to say it again. What I have to tell you is this: I love you, Michael. It's okay if you don't feel the same way. Just remember that no matter where you are or what you are doing, there will always be someone thinking of you and praying for you and cherishing you. Always. I cling to the hope that our paths will cross again someday. Until then, be well, dear Michael. Please, allow yourself to find the happiness you've so long denied yourself. You truly do deserve it._

_All my love, always, Maria_.

Mike looked down, unseeing, at the letters in his hands, struggling to regain control of himself before looking up again to find Davy kneeling beside him.

"Maybe tuck them away into the guitar case for safekeeping?" Davy asked Mike, having already guessed who they were from. Reluctantly, Mike nodded and did as the Brit suggested.

"I brought up swim clothes for y'all," Lucy pointed unnecessarily to the clothes that had been wrapped in the blanket, still watching Davy's every move.

"Where should we change?" Peter asked, looking around for a tent or something.

"Bushes everywhere," the blonde girl answered absently. "Pick one."

"You mean we're supposed to get naked with no clothes on out here?" Peter's voice cracked, prompting Micky to place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Pete. Just hide behind the bush over there and close your eyes." Micky advised.

"tha's right," Davy agreed, glad to see Mike spared the need to answer questions at the moment. "If you can't see us, we can't see you, remember?"

"Oh wow! That's right!" Peter exclaimed, closing his eyes and walking, arms outstretched, toward the bushes. "Look guys. I'm invisible!" He said before running face first into a tree. "Oh…um…pardon me…" he offered, skirting around the trunk toward the bushes, keeping his eyes determinedly closed.

Clara smiled softly. "He really is very cute," she reasserted softly. Mike just rolled his eyes. Lucy, however, agreed wholeheartedly. Her gaze, however, stayed fixed on a completely different Monkee. Noting this, Mike exchanged a look with Micky and groaned, certain that ever-protective mother hen Aunt Kate would skin them all before the trip was over the moment she realized that not just one but both of her sheltered little girls suddenly fancied Monkees. Micky thought fast and did the first thing he could think of to help break their gaze by picking Davy up, fully clothed, and tossing him into the pond.

"Hey," Lucy protested, running at Micky, intending to push him after Davy for it. Clara laughed, reminded abruptly of that day all those years ago she and Mike had both gone into the water in a similar state of dress, and winked before grabbing her sister and diving in, pulling the blonde along with her. Micky grabbed hold of the rope and with a mighty swing and a loud cry of "Banzai" followed them without even pausing to remove his shoes. As the four of them splashed around, Peter made his way back, eyes still closed, now clad in his swim shorts and carrying his clothes in his arms. Running into the tree trunk again he once more apologized before walking carefully to the blanket.

"You …um…you know Pete…you can open your eyes now," Mike advised.

"I can?" Peter confirmed before realizing that he didn't need to be invisible anymore. He was already changed. "Oh yeah…I can. Thanks Mike!"

"Anytime, Pete," Mike assured him as the blond dropped his clothes and swung out into the pond to join the others. Drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin upon them, Mike watched the others frolic and smiled, repeating to himself softly. "Anytime."


	31. Chapter 31

_Chapter 31. Moving Down the Road_

Three days of food and rest left all the Monkee's feeling stronger and more ready for what they were likely to face as they loaded up Aunt Kate's buckboard with their belongings and enough luggage for her and the girls as well. "I'll settle up with Mister Chambers for that golf cart and take care of the storage for the car once we get to town, then we can load up and be on our way." Aunt Kate informed the boys.

"No, now, Aunt Kate I can't let you do that. That there golf cart and the bill for the car is ours to make right, not yours." Mike protested as he gave a hand up to first Clara then Lucy, then each of the others before climbing up on the back of the board himself.

"I don't recall asking you to _let _me do a darned thing, mister, and you get yourself up here on the seat. You ain't in no condition to go bouncing around on the back of a buckboard just yet and we all know it." Aunt Kate replied tersely, " 'Sides, I got to arrange tending for my animals and such once we get down there anyways, so I might as well just see to it all at once." Mike opened his mouth to argue and received a stern look from his aunt. "Don't you do it, boy. You ain't got so big I can't whoop you yet no matter what you're thinkin'." She warned.

"Just give in gracefully, Michael," Clara whispered to him. "She's going to have her own way anyway. She always does. 'Sides, it ain't right to argue with your elders. You was brought up better'n that."

Mike closed his eyes, sighing in frustration, then moved to do as he was told. "Yes, ma'am."

"Are you sure we can't just bring them all home with us?" Davy whispered to Micky and Peter. "We finally found someone who can get him to just do what he needs to without arguing."

"I'd like that," Lucy smiled at Davy, taking his hand.

"So would I," he smiled back, bringing her hand to his lips.

"They'd kill each other if they was together all permanent like." Clara said, retrieving her little sister's hand and shooting Davy a warning look. "You just let him get to feelin' up to himself again and back in his own surroundin's you can bet he ain't gonna take to dictatin' near so well. 'Specially not in his own house."

"But maybe you can all come to visit?" Peter asked hopefully.

Clara smiled, glancing his direction then nodding. "I reckon that could be arranged a mite easier." She conceded. "Mayhap I could come along and help out a bit?"

"Or I could." Lucy smiled coquettishly at Davy.

"Just what Mike needs," Clara groaned, nudging her sister. "Someone else to worry after."

Noting the guilty expressions that passed between the other three Monkees, Mike sighed. "Now, that's enough of that." Causing Clara to snicker. "What?" he demanded of her, though a smile crept to his lips as it dawned on him.

"you're…" Clara began.

"…starting to sound just like ma…" Mike finished with her. "Yeah, yeah, I know…see why I don't come visitin'? Y'all rub off too dang quick."

"What do you mean 'starting', Mike? " Micky grinned. "You always sound like that."

"Tha's right," Davy agreed. "Can't blame the visit for that, mate. Been looking after the lot of us for too long now for that."

Aunt Kate cast a side-long glance at her nephew and sighed.

"We been lookin' after each other, you mean," Mike corrected gently, shifting uncomfortably under her scrutiny. "That's what family does, ain't it?"

"Not so you've ever known it," Kate muttered, patting Mike's leg.

Knowing that it wouldn't do any good to keep rehashing this with her, but unable to let her keep feeling guilty either, Mike just took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You helped me get to someplace safe, get into my own place, get my GED," Mike reminded her softly. "Seems to me you done looked out for me plenty, alright?" He was rewarded by a gentle squeeze in return.

"Maybe so, " Aunt Kate replied, "but it's still good to know you ain't so alone now. Them boys are good for you. Don't you lose'em."

Mike smiled, glancing back at his bandmates. "I ain't plannin' to."

Half an hour later they were loading everything into the Monkeemobile while Aunt Kate arranged for her horses to be stabled and tended. Micky loaded everything into the trunk while Mike tried to sort out who would sit where.

"So, we'll put Aunt Kate shotgun, and Micky and I can trade off the drive while you all…" Mike began.

"Uh-uh," Micky corrected quickly. "Pete and I can trade off driving. Aunt Kate can take…."

"The very back with the girls." Aunt Kate said from behind them, startling Micky and causing him to jump. He turned to her with his hand on his heart.

"Don't do that." he said as he turned to her with his hand on his heart. "You scared the daylights out of me."

"You need to learn to use them ears of yours as much as you do that mouth," Aunt Kate smirked. "And Michael what did you do to this car?"

Mike shook his head, grinning sheepishly. He wasn't about to answer that one.

"Now I know it only had one back seat when we got it for ya, and there's no way the engine looked like that." Aunt Kate scolded, though her eyes smiled at the sight of it. "How did you manage to take a basic, decent running car and... " She looked at Mike's half guilty half bemused expression and shook her head. "make it something so….unique. You always had a way with cars, didn't you boy?"

Mike shrugged, trying to hide the fact he was blushing as he pointed out, "Mick, too. He's helped keep' er up since."

"Good, then. Always said them hands was made for more than just grease-monkeyin'. Leave that to them what got no other talent. You," she stroked Michael's cheek fondly. "You're made for music. Don't you settle for nothin' less than everything you dreamed of, boy. You hear me?"

Mike blushed even brighter, smiling as replied, "Yes, ma'am. I hear ya."

"Alright." Kate smiled gently in return, then turned to the others and cleared her throat. " You girls to the back. Tiny, you're on this side so Michael can scoot that seat back. He's got them long ol' legs and needs to be able to stretch'em so he don't get too uncomfortable too fast, " she held up a finger to Mike to ward off protests. "Pete, sit yourself behind Micky so you can trade off quick when you need to." She looked at them all and nodded. "Go on. Get in. Let's get a move'on now."

Mike watched them all scramble quickly to follow her directions, then rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Aunt Kate, please. It just ain't right to go putting you clean in the back of the car like that. I can sit back there with the girls and you can…"

"You'll do no such thing, boy." Kate attempted to look sternly at him once more but found herself smiling fondly instead. "You're a good boy, Robert Michael, and you always was. But you got to learn to let someone else be in charge once in awhile. Seems like you done got too use to arguin' and frownin' and bein' stern and strong and you done forgot how to let someone else lead once in awhile. "She patted his arm. "I promise you it ain't gonna blow up around you if you just back up and let someone else handle things awhile."

"They done been handlin' it for quite awhile now," Mike answered guiltily. "Ain't left them much choice gettin' myself in this shape and all."

"Yes, well, you know I like to think all things happen for a reason. Mayhap that's the reason for it all then," Aunt Kate suggested. "Maybe this was all supposed to teach you to trust enough so you can follow instead of lead sometimes. And maybe it was to let you know it was time to come on back home for a spell. "

"Maybe…" Mike conceded reluctantly, moving to take his place in the car as designated by Aunt Kate when she nodded toward it once again.

"You know," Aunt Kate called out from the back seat once they were all on their way. "I'm thinkin' we maybe ought to go to his old home before heading up to the ranch and fussing with the spinsters."

Mike's entire posture went rigid. He hadn't been back to that place since the night his momma took two of her children with her. Davy reached forward and patted his friend's shoulder. "If we're going to exorcise all the ghosts we might have to." He suggested softly.

Very reluctantly, Mike nodded. His voice sounded strained as he admitted, "I ain't been back there since…"

"I know," Davy replied, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "And if you just can't yet, we get it, man. I just think it's haunted you long enough. We all do. That's why we're here, remember? And we'll be right beside you the whole way, okay? Just …think about it? "

Mike looked down at his tightly folded arms and nodded. That was what they were coming down here for, after all. He drew a slow deep breath and instructed quietly, "Just get on the highway and head south from here, Mick. I'll let you know where to turn off once we get close."

Kate at her girls exchanged concerned glances, knowing how hard what he was about to face would be for him. Kate remembered the wrecked shell of a boy who'd come to spend the summer with them after the nightmare that took his entire family in one way or another from him had played out in front of him. He'd been quite useful for helping around the house and on the farm, but had done little by way of interaction. I had taken most of the summer just to drag him out of his shell and convince him to interact beyond simply following directions, and then it was mostly just with Clara. Kate had been dismayed when Ren had insisted that the boy be returned, but hadn't argued too much. Not when she could barely afford to feed her own two girls. She should have, though. She knew that now. Maybe she'd always known it. She remembered the look on the boy's face when she'd told him he was going back to Houston. That look of resignation as he withdrew back into that shell again would likely always haunt her. The expressions on her daughter's faces told her that they remembered, too. Kate was surprised, however, to find Peter looking back at them with a matching look of concern. "We'll help him through all of this," he told them all gently. "Promise."

Reaching forward to pat his hand, Aunt Kate smiled. "Of course you will, Pete. You're a good boy. "

Peter smiled at that. He tried to be, after all. Maybe, just this once, it would be enough.


End file.
